


Before You Left Me You Were Free

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Case Fic, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal's sentence came to an end, only one of the major cases he'd worked remained unsolved. Now, over two years later, he and Peter reunite for a road trip to rural Pennsylvania to finally close the case - and to figure out what the future holds for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before You Left Me You Were Free

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round One of [WC Reverse BB](http://wc-reverse-bb.livejournal.com/), originally based on [this art](http://i.imgur.com/A8gal9D.jpg) by [Love_82](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_82). (The revised artwork is posted below!) There are several sentences of Pennsylvania German (aka Deitsch or "Pennsylvania Dutch" - the language of the Amish) in this fic; translations are provided in the notes at the end. Title is from "Sad Caper" by Hootie & the Blowfish.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/9thLRN3.jpg)

Peter Burke walked through the doors of Pierpoint Security Consulting and stopped short, instinctively taking a moment to get his bearings. This was the first time he’d visited Neal at work, and he couldn’t help being impressed. The building had a sleek, futuristic look to it, with bright white walls, black desks and furniture, and blue accents. There was a large water wall fountain against the far wall, and the company’s logo glowed in tasteful blue neon behind it, casting a cerulean shimmer on the rivulets as they ran down the glass.

Pulling his gaze away from the hypnotic glow, Peter’s eyes finally settled on the reception desk to the left, and he had to fight the urge to flash his badge as he approached. He was here on FBI business, in a manner of speaking, but he didn’t need his credentials this time.

“Good afternoon,” the receptionist said, giving him a pleasant smile that actually looked to be genuine. “How may I help you, sir?”

Peter returned the smile, still feeling a little bit out of place. “I’m Peter Burke. I’m here to see Neal Caffrey.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Burke – I’m sorry, it’s _Agent_ Burke, isn’t it?” She corrected the slip quickly and without getting flustered, and Peter vaguely wondered if she’d ever considered a career in law enforcement. “Just a moment, please. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

She dialed the phone and listened a moment before speaking. “Mr. Caffrey, Peter Burke is here to see you. Should I send him up? Yes, sir, I will. Thank you.” _Mr. Caffrey? Sir?_ Peter managed to stifle a grin. “He’s ready for you, Agent Burke. Take the elevator to the left of the fountain up to the fourth floor. Mr. Caffrey’s office is straight down the hall, second door on your right.”

Peter thanked her, then headed back to the elevator, his eyes once again drawn to the fountain as he waited. After a quick ride up to the fourth floor, he stepped out and walked down the hallway, glancing at the first door on the right (Managing Director of Operations and Investigations) before stopping in front of the second door.

_Neal G. Caffrey, Director of Security_

For a moment, Peter felt like he’d stepped into some alternate reality – much like the six agonizing weeks he’d spent in prison. At the same time, he couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride deep in his chest. Neal had completed his sentence, had actually gotten himself square with the house, and had made a whole new and honest life for himself. A small part of Peter was still stinging from the fact that Neal had chosen to build that life largely on his own, but he was satisfied that the younger man hadn’t returned to his criminal ways.

With a barely-audible grunt, Peter shook himself out of his thoughts and raised a fist to knock on the door. He only managed two short raps before the door swung open, and he was greeted by a face that was…definitely not Neal’s.

“Is that Peter?” A familiar voice rang out from behind the man standing in front of him, and Peter felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Neal walked up to stand beside the other man, giving Peter a quick once-over and grinning. “Hey, come on in.” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and ushered him into what looked to be a small reception area. “Peter Burke, this is Sander Pierpoint, our chairman and CEO. Sandy, Special Agent Peter Burke, my mentor and one of my dearest friends.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat at the introduction. _Mentor? Dearest friend?_ Had he been alone with Neal, it would have been enough to make him a little choked up, but he kept his professional bearing and shook the man’s outstretched hand.

“Ah, Agent Burke! It’s nice to finally meet the man who made Neal who he is today. I’ve heard a lot about you and your impressive career.” Pierpoint’s handshake was confident, and he looked Peter directly in the eyes when speaking to him. Once again, Peter was struck by the friendly professionalism of the place, and he was secretly thrilled that Neal must have spoken highly of him to his boss.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you as well.” Neal had told Peter very little about the firm’s head honcho, so he went with the standard pleasantries.

“Well, as you could probably tell, I was just on my way out. I’ll leave you two to your business. Neal, have a safe trip, and I’ll see you when you get back. Take good care of our security director, Agent Burke.”

“Will do,” Peter said with a nod, still not sure what to make of the whirlwind introductions.

“Thanks, Sandy,” Neal said, flashing him a smile that would look perfectly normal to most, but which Peter recognized as slightly less than genuine. “Give Eliana my best, and tell Mickey to swing for the fences on Saturday.”

“Just like his namesake.” With that, Neal’s boss made his exit, closing the door behind him.

“Peter, if you’ll give me a minute, I need to check in with Bree and send her on her way.” He pointed behind Peter, and it was only then that he noticed the administrative assistant sitting at a desk off to the side. She smiled at him but said nothing. “Go ahead back,” he continued, pointing to a door at the back of the reception area. “You can wait in there, or if you’re feeling adventurous, you can see what’s behind door number two on the far right. Make yourself comfortable.”

The smile Neal had used with his boss was still plastered on his face, and it was starting to make Peter uncomfortable now that it was trained on him. “Sure, of course,” he said, giving Neal a searching look. When the other man just raised his eyebrows expectantly, Peter forced a smile and left.

Neal’s office looked more like a situation room than an actual office – and was, Peter noticed, quite a bit larger than his own office at the bureau. The color scheme from the lobby, white walls and black furniture, was in use here as well. Neal’s desk sat off to the right, and directly in front of Peter was a long conference table with chairs on either side. There was a large LCD panel hanging on the wall on the left, at the opposite end of the room from the desk, and matching monitors hung on the walls at the front and back of the room.

Several framed documents hung on the wall behind Neal’s desk, ranging from his FBI certificates of appreciation to certifications from security consultant associations and appraisal organizations. All of them looked completely legitimate, as did the one from the University of London which stated that Neal had _taught_ art history short courses.

It wasn’t until he tried to imagine Neal being a lecturer that something else dawned on him. Neal’s attitude was different here, something only Peter’s subconscious had noticed earlier. He carried himself differently, with a confident stance and more mature tone that Peter had ever seen from him.

He’d spent time with Neal several times since his return from London over five months earlier – though not nearly as much as he should have – but this was his first time seeing Neal as a free, tax-paying working man. As a director of security, of all things. The change suited Neal well, but the less-than-genuine smile nagged at Peter in a way that he couldn’t quite decipher.

Shrugging it off for the time being, he decided to check out what was behind the mystery door near Neal’s desk. What he saw on the other side of the door stopped him in his tracks, and he could only gaze around in wonder, his hand still on the door handle.

For as sleek and utilitarian as the rest of the building seemed, this room looked almost cozy in contrast. There was a tasteful light brown sofa along one wall, with an end table beside it and a matching arm chair at an angle across from it. A small wooden writing desk sat facing a wall of windows; there was a closed laptop perched atop it, along with a few picture frames, a small glass terrarium with an air plant perched atop the stones and blue sand, and a very familiar bust of Socrates. An easel with a sketchpad stood in one corner, with a pair of floor to ceiling bookcases nearby, and a beautiful bonsai tree sat on the sill in front of one of the windows. 

At the other end of the small room was a kitchenette, with a cupboard, countertop, microwave, compact refrigerator, and Keurig coffeemaker. A door led to what Peter could see was a powder room, just a toilet and sink.

Peter closed the door behind him, then stepped up to the desk to take a closer look at the framed photos, and his breath caught in his throat. He picked up the one closest to him, a group shot from the party June had thrown the day after Neal completed his sentence. The usual people were there – Elizabeth, Jones, Diana, Mozzie (who hurried to join the photo after setting the self-timer), and June herself, all of them smiling happily.

And then there were the two of them, right in the center of the photo. Peter’s arm was draped over Neal’s shoulders, pulling him close, looking more proud of the younger man than he ever thought he could be – especially after…after. Neal was giving the camera a small, vaguely smug grin, and he was leaning into Peter just slightly. Peter had the same photo framed on his mantel.

He put it back in its place and picked up the other one, a picture Elizabeth had taken over five years earlier of the two of them in tuxedos, standing in the Burkes’ kitchen. They’d worked beautifully together that day, pulling off a smooth sting and saving Mozzie from the Detroit mob. They’d been amazing back then, before…before. He rubbed the edge of his thumb over the photo, over Neal’s face, and swallowed hard.

“Peter?”

Only the years of tempering his reactions as part of his job kept Peter from jumping out of his skin and dropping the photo to the floor. Instead, he turned as casually as he could manage and tried to give Neal a smile.

“Been a long time,” he said, holding up the photo before putting it back in its place.

“Yeah.” Neal’s voice was soft, wistful. The earlier tone had vanished, as had the odd smile. He watched Peter for a moment, and a different smile – a more honest one – slowly spread over his face. He looked so heartbreakingly beautiful that it nearly took Peter’s breath away.

Before Peter realized it was happening, Neal closed the distance between them and enveloped him in a fierce embrace. As he wrapped his arms around the younger man, Peter could tell that this was more than the usual back-slapping hug. It felt for a moment like Neal was trembling, but by the time Peter recognized it, the sensation was gone.

The hug went on for longer than expected, Neal’s slim body warm and familiar against his. It was like coming home, and it reminded him of a day at the top of a tower on an island with no extradition. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and choked back a sudden surge of emotion.

When Neal finally stepped away, there were faint hints of redness around his eyes, and he struggled to meet Peter’s gaze. Peter, though, was grateful for the chance to make sure he was in control of his own emotions. 

“God, Peter, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you, too.” Peter shifted from one foot to the other, still vaguely embarrassed at being caught staring at the photo. “But hey, it hasn’t been that long, has it?”

Neal cocked his head at him. “It’s been almost three months since we had dinner at my new place.” Though someone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have caught it, Peter thought he picked up on a touch of hurt in that statement.

He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it abruptly as he realized that Neal was right. No wonder he’d had sounded so eager when Peter called and asked if he’d be willing to help with a case. When he’d left the FBI, Neal had promised to come back if they ever needed his services, but then he’d promptly moved to London. For two years. There were days when Peter wondered if he’d ever see the man again, and there was a part of him deep inside that was crushed by the thought of Neal vanishing from his life completely.

Back when their original handler-CI relationship started, it hadn’t taken Peter long to realize that he was in love with Neal Caffrey. He’d known it even before Kate’s death, which now seemed like a different lifetime. He’d known it, and it had terrified him. The first time El tried to talk to him about his feelings for Neal, he’d refused to speak to her, covering his fear and confusion with stubbornness. He eventually made it to a point where they could talk about it, but that was before…before. Before his time in prison. Before what Neal did to get him out. Before what happened to them – especially Neal – in the ensuing months.

Even after he’d gotten out, after Neal had confessed to him, Peter was still, unimaginably, in love with the man. And he hated himself for it. He’d pushed Neal away, tried to distance himself, still unable to cope with what he was feeling for his CI. He thought if he allowed himself to act upon those feelings, one or both of them would eventually end up getting hurt. So he tried to cut Neal off…and that ended up hurting both of them even more.

And then Neal had been betrayed by the woman he’d thought was Rebecca Lowe – the woman he thought he loved. When she was finally behind bars, and Peter had dared to think Neal was safe, he’d been abducted. Peter, who had just turned down a promotion to section chief, put everything into finding him. And as always, he was successful. If only he’d been as successful at convincing the higher-ups to drop the rest of Neal’s sentence.

As Neal had neared the end of his time on the anklet, Elizabeth had finally convinced Peter to talk to the younger man about his feelings. She insisted Neal felt the same way, swore she could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at Peter when he thought no one was watching.

That very day – the day Peter was going to tell Neal he loved him – was the day Neal came to him and said he was moving to London at the completion of his sentence.

Peter had been utterly devastated. He’d put on a smile, of course, and tried to tell himself that it was for the best. He loved El, and he didn’t need anyone else to make his life complete. And he tried to be happy for Neal, to convince himself that the man would have a wonderful life with Sara Ellis. Peter had always liked Sara, had always liked Sara and Neal together.

He’d still been smiling during that party at June’s, and again when he said goodbye to Neal at the airport the next day, even as the tears hung heavy in their eyes. Smiling, even while his heart was breaking into tiny little shards that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to put back together again.

It wasn’t until the following day, when he’d arrived at work and realized he wouldn’t see Neal – and might never see Neal there again – that it fully hit him. He’d managed to hold it together through the day, but when he’d gotten home, he’d gone straight up to the bathroom to fall apart in the privacy of the shower. That’s where El found him countless minutes later, sitting down because his legs had given out, the cold water cascading down on him, hoarse sobs still wracking his body even then.

It felt like Neal had died. Sure, he talked to the man on the phone and through email, but that did nothing to close the physical distance between them – or the ever-present ache in his chest. And it continued for two _long_ years, Peter going through his days at the bureau, pretending that everything was okay. After a while, he started to believe it, resigning himself to the fact that Neal might never come back to him. It helped that he still had El, who he loved more than anyone. She knew about his feelings for Neal and still loved him, wanted him to be happy, agreed to allow Neal into their lives if that was what both men needed.

By the time Neal had returned to New York close to six months ago, still single and Sara-less but with a job offer already lined up at Pierpoint, Peter had made peace with the fact that he’d probably never have a romantic relationship with Neal. They’d spent plenty of time together for the first month-and-a-half, hanging out, reminiscing. It had been just like old times.

And it felt like it was slowly dismantling Peter all over again, being so close to the man he loved, yet so far away. Being able to touch him but not kiss him, hug him but not hold him, love him but not make love to him.

Then they’d spent a weekend together, moving Neal into his new apartment. When they’d finally finished, they’d shared a couple of beers, and he’d caught Neal staring at him. Staring and aroused. It had been something right out of Peter’s dreams – and he’d promptly panicked. 

He’d started putting off their get-togethers, making excuses and cancelling, expecting Neal to move on and make new friends at Pierpoint. It had frustrated El to no end, and she made it a point to remind him of what had happened the last time he’d tried to distance himself from Neal. _He came back to you, Peter_ , she’d said. _This is your second chance. Don’t push him away again. Talk to him. Tell him._

So when he’d gotten a call from the Philadelphia field office requesting his assistance – and Neal’s, if possible – with the Bernheisel case, Peter had jumped at the chance. Maybe this was just what he needed, what _they_ needed, to sort out the feelings they had for each other.

Jeffrey Bernheisel worked in manufacturing – of Social Security cards, driver’s licenses, and green cards, among other documents. And he was exceptional at what he did; even Neal had been envious of his forgeries, though he never came right out and admitted it. Bernheisel had quite an operation going in Hunts Point, and they’d come so close to catching him, only to have him completely vanish and go to ground the night before they’d planned to bring him in. It was one of the last cases Peter and Neal had worked on together, and the only one of those that hadn’t been closed before Neal left for London.

The forger had never turned up again…until a few weeks ago, when a small terrorist cell was broken up in a Philadelphia suburb. The counterfeit green cards found at the scene were suspected to be Bernheisel’s work, and when more of the pieces started falling into place, Peter had gotten the call from Philly.

“Peter? You okay?”

“Hmm?” Neal’s words brought Peter out of his reverie, and he squared his shoulders and smiled. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Just didn’t realize it’d been so long.” He clapped Neal on the shoulder and tried to lighten the mood. “But hey, you spent the better part of five years with a two-mile radius and me breathing down your neck. I’m surprised you even want to see me anymore.”

For a split second – before covering nicely – Neal looked as if he’d been slapped, and Peter mentally cringed. “Well, I did put an ocean between us for two years.”

Peter sighed and looked away, frustrated that he was already making a mess of things before they’d even gotten started. “Yeah.” He looked back at Neal and smiled. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back. And three months is way too long for friends who live in the same city. It won’t happen again.”

Neal returned the smile, a genuine one that made it all the way to his eyes and started to warm the cold spot in the pit of Peter’s stomach. “You know I’ll hold you to that, right?”

“You’d better.” Peter laughed and let himself relax, giving Neal a nod. “So, about this case. I’d like you to take a look at a few documents and tell me what you think.” He started to reach for the inside pocket of his jacket, but Neal held up a hand to stop him. He reached into the pocket of his own jacket and pulled something out, then examined it briefly.

“They’re brilliant, but they _are_ forgeries.” He held up a pair of green cards and grinned at Peter. “And they’re Bernheisel’s work.”

Peter blinked and reflexively patted his pockets, but found his wallet, keys, and credentials case in their usual places. Only the green cards were missing. “Dammit, Neal. Every time.” He shook his head and stepped up close to Neal. “How can you tell?”

Neal looked vaguely proud of himself, and he pointed to the fingerprint on the right side of the card. “He’s still signing the hologram, but he’s hiding it in the Homeland Security emblem. Right…here.” Sure enough, barely visible through the print around the emblem were the initials _JB_.

“I’ll be damned.” Peter took the cards and squinted at the top one, tilting it to get a better view of the hologram. “And you saw that when you looked at them a minute ago?” When Neal gave him a smug smile, Peter rolled his eyes. “What am I saying? Of course you did.”

Neal shrugged, feigning innocence, then waved in the direction of the kitchenette. “Can I get you anything, Peter? Water, coffee?” When Peter shook his head, Neal’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Glenmorangie?”

“You have scotch at the office. Why am I not surprised?” When Neal’s eyes clouded over for a moment with something Peter couldn’t quite figure out, he continued, eager to avoid an uncomfortable silence. “As much as I’d like to take you up on the offer, we should get going. We still need to stop by your place and pick up your things, and then I’ve got a couple hours of driving ahead of me.”

“Point taken.” Neal grabbed a dark brown leather briefcase from under the writing desk, then pulled something out of the desk drawer and slipped it into the back pocket on the case before slinging it over his shoulder. He glanced around the room as if checking to make sure everything was in place, then nodded at Peter. “Let’s get out of here.”

Peter walked out ahead of Neal, letting him lock the door behind them. His assistant had already gone, so Neal locked the outer door as well. As he waited, Peter looked at the nameplate once again. Though the stab of pride returned, it was tempered by the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

For the time being, he ignored his gut in favor of his heart. Riding down in the elevator and walking out through the lobby with Neal was like old times, and by the time they made it to the car, Peter felt like they could take on the world.

\-------------

Neal was smiling as he let Peter into the apartment, and for the first time in nearly three months, he felt genuinely happy. He’d be spending time away from Pierpoint Security, and he’d be working a case with Peter – their first in so long that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. He’d get to experience the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of closing the case, the pride in Peter’s eyes.

He had another reason to be happy. For the first time since the older man had helped him move in, Neal was alone with Peter in his apartment. Peter had been there a couple of times since, sure, but usually with Elizabeth. He’d brought June to visit once, and oddly enough, Clinton Jones accompanied him another time. Then, Peter had simply stopped coming over at all.

Neal had a good idea why Peter was avoiding him, and as much as he hated the evasion, he didn’t regret the reason. Peter had seemed more than happy to help him move from his room at June’s to his high-rise studio in Murray Hill. Though still small, the apartment was bigger than the one on Riverside Drive, and it had a view of the river. He’d gotten a break on the rent because the building was owned by the Pierpoint family, and with his salary at the firm, he could easily afford it.

As he closed the door behind him and dropped his briefcase on the table just inside the door, he let his thoughts drift back to that day.

_They’d finally gotten the last of Neal’s things settled, and both of them were sweaty, aching, and worn out. Neal went to the mostly-empty fridge and reached in for the essentials – beer. He’d found a local craft brew that he actually liked, and somewhat surprisingly, Peter loved the stuff._

_“Beer?” He offered one to Peter, who took it without hesitation._

_“God, yes. Thanks.”_

_Neal took a drink then looked over at the man beside him. Peter tilted his own bottle up, quickly draining half of it, his eyes nearly closed and a satisfied look on his face. His free hand was on his hip, and Neal could see a drop of sweat running down the side of Peter’s neck._

_He longed to lean over and lick it away._

_Instead, he just stared, getting lost in the vision before him. Peter was always handsome in that everyman sort of way, but he looked downright appetizing in that moment, his damp t-shirt clinging to every muscle, hair mussed, skin slick with perspiration. Neal could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell his anti-perspirant and barely-there hints of cologne and shampoo._

_He imagined licking away the drop of sweat, his tongue tracing a path up Peter’s neck to his jaw, to his lips, inside his mouth. His body started to tingle at the thought of Peter moaning and leaning into him as they kissed, the older man’s stubble rasping against his own. The Neal in his vision put his hands on Peter’s face, and Peter’s own hands moved to cup Neal’s ass, to pull him closer._

_He wasn’t sure what brought him out of the fantasy, but he was suddenly aware of Peter’s eyes on him, locking with his own as they regained focus. The look on Peter’s face was equal parts shock and…desire._

_“Neal?” Peter’s whisper was so low that if he hadn’t been standing right next to him, Neal would have missed it. The older man’s eyes searched his, then traveled slowly down Neal’s body until they finally stopped. And widened._

_Neal didn’t have to look down to know what Peter was seeing. He could feel it, trapped and uncomfortable and obvious. He stood completely still, not daring to move, already trying to anticipate what would happen next._

_When Peter’s eyes finally returned to his, Neal watched him closely, his own expression guarded. He licked his lips, and that broke the spell. Peter jumped as if startled and mumbled something about the bathroom before disappearing._

_By the time he returned, Neal had gotten himself mostly under control, but Peter was clearly shaken. He made an excuse – and Neal knew that’s exactly what it was – about having to get home, thanked Neal for the beer, and told him he’d see him soon. And then he was gone, leaving Neal confused, hurt, and still half hard._

“Neal?”

It took a moment for Neal to realize that Peter’s voice was coming from behind him and not from his daydream. “Yeah?” He turned and gave Peter a smile. “Sorry, I spaced out there for a minute.”

“No kidding.” Peter returned the smile and shook his head, turning to look around the apartment. “I still can’t believe this place.”

“Yeah,” Neal agreed as he walked with Peter into the main living space. “It doesn’t have the personality of my room at June’s, but it’s my own place, and I have a nice view of the river.”

“And a rooftop pool.”

“There is that.” Neal grinned and slipped around the room dividers he used to separate his sleeping space from the rest of the studio, Peter following closely behind. Neal’s bed and bedroom furniture were directly behind the dividers, and off to the side, there was a small alcove with a dining table at one side and an easel at the other, next to the window.

Peter nodded at the finished painting on the easel, a view of the river through the window at sunrise. A silhouetted figure was perched on the sill, gazing out at the fiery sky. “This is great. I still say your originals are better than your forgeries.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the opposite wall, where a flawless copy of Van Gogh’s _Blossoming Almond Tree_ hung near Neal’s bed.

“Thank you, Peter,” Neal said as he gathered the things he’d gotten ready for the trip. “I appreciate that.” He waved Peter over and handed him a black leather travel duffel. 

“Have you been selling many?”

Neal examined Peter’s face for any hint of sarcasm, but he found only genuine curiosity. “Uh, no. Just a few.” At Peter’s puzzled head tilt, Neal just shrugged and gestured to the painting on the easel. “That’s just a guy looking out a window. This –” He waved his hand at his Van Gogh, “– is the very essence of rebirth, of a new life.” He sighed and shook his head. “My originals will never bring in as much as my reproductions.” Peter’s eyebrows shot up, and Neal grinned. “…did.”

“Did.”

“Exactly.” Neal grabbed his garment bag and slung a leather backpack over his shoulder.

“You have some casual clothes in here, right? Jeans, t-shirts?”

Neal rolled his eyes and led the way out around the dividers. “Yes, Peter. I do own jeans and t-shirts, and even sneakers. I won’t apologize for not owning a pair of shit kickers, though.”

Peter stopped and spun around to face him, a stunned expression on his face. When Neal flashed him a smug smile, Peter burst out laughing. It was the first time in a very long time that Neal had seen Peter like this, happy and comfortable, and it suited him well. 

“Surprised?”

“I don’t think you’ll ever stop surprising me,” Peter admitted, giving Neal a pat on the shoulder. Before Neal even realized it was happening, that hand slid casually down to the small of his back. It felt good there, familiar and right.

“I know how much you love surprises.” The sarcasm in Neal’s voice got another chuckle out of his former handler.

“Yeah, something like that.” Peter sighed and finally removed his hand. “Okay, it’s time for us to hit the road.”

Neal made a quick stop in the bathroom, then added a few things to his briefcase while Peter took his turn. As they headed down in the elevator, Neal glanced over at Peter.

“Where did you say we were going again? Somewhere in Pennsylvania, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter gave him a lopsided smile. “We’re stopping at the Philadelphia field office first to meet up with Agent Brian Marcoux, an old friend of mine. I talked to him yesterday, and he referred to our final stop as Lower Bumfuck, Pennsyltucky.”

“Wow. Sounds homey.”

Peter hummed in agreement but said nothing else, and a calm silence fell between them. Neal suspected the other man felt the same way he did about the trip. It didn’t particularly matter where they were going. For the first time in well over two years, they were working on a case together. And as much as he’d hated it, their time apart had apparently been good for their relationship, as Peter seemed more comfortable around him than he’d been in years. 

Neal had a good feeling about this trip, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself as he followed Peter to the car.

\-------------

Peter kept them on the New Jersey Turnpike only as far as Rutgers before deciding on an alternate route to avoid the traffic. They’d made small talk until then, but after settling into a calmer traffic flow, Peter began to fill Neal in on what he knew.

After arresting the would-be terrorists, the Philly field office went after everyone connected to them, including those who manufactured their documentation. They quickly realized that the permanent resident cards were highly sophisticated forgeries, complete with holograms, optical memory stripes, and authentic laminate, cards, and ink.

“They suspected that it was Bernheisel’s work, especially when they finally found the initials.”

“Wait, so you didn’t need me to find them earlier? You already knew they were there?”

Peter gave him a sly grin. “Oh, we knew, but I always like to get a second opinion. Especially when it’s yours.” He didn’t have to wait long for the question he knew was coming.

“How long did it take them to find the initials?”

“Couple of days.” Peter glanced over just in time to see the corners of Neal’s mouth curl up in a self-satisfied smile. “Since they couldn’t find Bernheisel, they started looking for his raw materials suppliers. Does the name Augusto Randazzo ring a bell?”

“Yeah,” Neal said after a moment of thought. “That’s Poppa Gussy. He betrayed Moz years ago, and that’s all I heard about for the longest time. Isn’t he in prison, though? I thought he was set up…uh, somehow.”

“Somehow, huh.”

“Moz may have made an anonymous call, but then again, all of his calls are anonymous by design.”

“Uh-huh.” Peter smirked and drummed absently on the steering wheel to the 70s music playing softly in the background. “Randazzo was released from prison a little over a year ago. From what we’ve pieced together, it didn’t take him long to get back into his old line of work.” He paused, waiting for Neal to fill in the blank.

“Transporting and distributing raw materials.”

“Exactly. Once we figured out that Bernheisel was back in the business, we started tracking down all of his old suppliers. Most of them are either in prison, dead, or they’ve moved on to other cities. Of the few that were left, the only one that threw up any red flags was Randazzo. He was in the habit of making random trips to a small town in Pennsylvania…”

“Lower Bumfuck,” Neal supplied.

Peter huffed a laugh as he sorted through his mental Rolodex. “Shale Hill. Very rural south-central Pennsylvania. Amish country.”

“Amish? What would Poppa Gussy want with the Amish?”

“See, we wondered the same thing, so we started watching him with the help of the Philly field office and the Harrisburg resident agency. He took different routes and sometimes drove for miles in the wrong direction, but he always ended up at the same place, a farm out in the middle of nowhere. Well, middle of Shale Hill – same thing.” He paused to take a drink from his bottle of water.

“He was driving all the way down here from Manhattan?” Neal asked.

“Right. And when they started watching the farm, they noticed quite a bit of traffic going in and out at all hours, mostly overnight. Turns out most of these people were drivers hired anonymously to make deliveries, and they had no idea what they were transporting. But Gus Randazzo –”

“– Always transports the goods himself. He’s never trusted anyone else.”

“Yep. Surveillance of the farm showed that the residents rarely left, but it’s not an operating farm – no crops, only a few animals, a barely-used tractor, you get the idea. Now here’s the catch. The only photos they could get of the resident showed what looked to be an Amish man. Take a look at the file in the back pocket of my briefcase.”

Neal reached into the backseat and retrieved the file, then looked at the pages of photo printouts inside. “I don’t…” He trailed off and took a closer look at one of the pages, holding it near the window to get some extra light. “Wait. This is Bernheisel.”

Peter nodded; he already knew the series of photos well. They showed Gus Randazzo and Jeffrey Bernheisel standing by the front of a black Sprinter van and talking. Bernheisel was dressed in Amish clothing and had a full beard and glasses; he was barely recognizable.

“Jones and Holland were working our side of the case with Randazzo in the city, but when we got the positive ID on Bernheisel, Jones thought I might want to take it over and make the trip down here.” Peter glanced over at Neal. “This was the only major case you and I still hadn’t closed when you left, so I didn’t even think twice. Figured you’d want in on it, too.”

Neal was still staring at the photos and only hummed a vague acknowledgement. He pulled out another set of printouts – general surveillance photos of the farm – and started flipping through them. For several minutes, he scrutinized the photos in silence, and Peter could tell he was finding discrepancies that likely took the Philly agents days to discover.

“What do you see?” Peter asked softly. He hated to break the silence; watching Neal puzzle through things was definitely a guilty pleasure of his.

“The bumpers on the van are painted black.” Neal flipped to a different page. “The mailbox says J. Beiler. Is that Bernheisel’s alias? Same initials. And there aren’t any buggies. Or any horses.”

Peter broke into a wide grin. “Some of the local Amish paint over the chrome on their vehicles; Randazzo did that so the van wouldn’t stand out if it was parked at the farm. Bernheisel is going by the name Jeremiah Beiler locally – again, fits right in with the Amish in the area. And when _Beiler_ leaves the farm, which is rarely, he drives a farm truck that’s exempt from registration. No horses, and definitely no buggies.” Neal grinned back at him, obviously pleased with himself, and Peter couldn’t help chuckling. “You’ve still got it.” 

“Would you have brought me along if you thought I didn’t?”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter replied without hesitation, reaching over to give Neal a pat on the knee. He let his hand linger for a few seconds, thumb brushing over the fabric of Neal’s pants, before giving his knee a quick squeeze and putting his hand back on the steering wheel. “I don’t think I would’ve done it without you. Probably would’ve sent Jones instead.” He glanced at Neal again and saw that his smile had softened.

“Thanks, Peter.” Though it sounded like there was more he wanted to say, Neal grew quiet, shifting in his seat and looking out the window. They passed through town after town in a comfortable silence, and Peter realized somewhere around the Forrestal Campus of Princeton that Neal had nodded off.

As he waited at a traffic signal a short distance later, Peter gazed over at the man in the passenger seat and smiled. Neal looked beautiful in repose – young, carefree, and surprisingly innocent. If Peter concentrated on this version of Neal Caffrey long enough, all he saw was the man with whom he’d fallen in love. Not a former criminal or a confidence man, but an intelligent, talented, romantic, and thoughtful human being.

He longed to reach over and touch Neal as he slept, to run his fingers down the line of his jaw…or up the inside of his thigh. Instead, he kept his hands to himself, choosing to treasure this sweet version of Neal each time he could safely take his eyes off the road.

Somewhere around North Trenton, “Tom Sawyer” came on the radio, and Peter kicked his steering wheel drumming into high gear. He navigated through the time changes with ease, his wedding band occasionally clicking on the cruise control buttons, grinning like a maniac. 

It wasn’t until the song was almost over that Peter glanced over and caught Neal watching him intently, a smile pulling up the corners of his gaping mouth. Peter cringed and grabbed the steering wheel tightly with both hands, his neck and ears burning.

“Hey, don’t stop,” Neal said with what sounded an awful lot like sincerity. “That was great. Did you play drums in school or something?” When Peter didn’t answer, the younger man reached across to touch his arm. “Peter?”

“That’s not funny, Neal.” Peter stared straight ahead, clenching his jaw against the humiliation that wanted so badly to come out as anger. 

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Neal held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Peter, I wasn’t joking. I didn’t – I’ve never seen you do that. I mean, you were right on. It was actually kind of impressive.” His voice softened, tinged with a hint of regret. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, okay?”

Peter nodded but still didn’t trust himself to speak. He took a drink from his water bottle, mentally cursing the fact that his hands were shaking – and that Neal saw it.

“No, I didn’t,” he finally answered. “I wanted to, but we couldn’t afford private lessons, and I was too busy playing sports in school to be in the band.”

“Hmm.” Neal considered for a moment, then laid a hand on Peter’s leg, just above his knee. “You should give it a try, take some lessons. You’re a natural.”

The comment surprised Peter, especially coming from someone who was himself a natural at just about everything. “Thanks,” he said in a near-whisper, trying not to concentrate too hard on how good Neal’s warm hand felt on his leg.

They crossed the bridge over the Delaware River and into Pennsylvania in silence, and Peter thought Neal might move his hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he left it there, the tips of his fingers curling to scratch lightly at Peter’s leg. It might have tickled had it not felt so damn good, and Peter had to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud. 

After switching to the expressway to skirt the city traffic, Peter finally couldn’t take it anymore and reached down to wrap his fingers around Neal’s. The younger man barely stifled a startled gasp, but he recovered quickly and squeezed Peter’s fingers.

“Neal…”

“Does this mean we’re almost there?”

“That wasn’t an ‘are we there yet,’ was it?”

Neal gave him a crooked grin. “No. Just trying to figure out if you’re ticklish or turned on.”

Peter sighed. “A little of both, and we’ll be there in about fifteen minutes if traffic stays like this.”

Neal sat back, looking pleased with himself, and Peter tried not to roll his eyes. After a few minutes, Neal turned his hand over, threading his fingers through Peter’s own. Peter was a little unnerved – though not at all surprised – by the man’s boldness, but he forced himself to leave his hand where it was. This was what he’d wanted, and he worried that if he kept putting up walls every time Neal tried to make a move, the younger man would eventually tire of trying to break them down and would move on.

Neal was persistent, but he was also human, and Peter knew how many times he’d had his heart broken. Peter couldn’t bear to add his own name to the list of those who’d ravaged the soul of a man who, deep down, was genuinely good – and more easily damaged after each failed relationship. He’d turned him away too many times already.

Neal had finally stopped running. It was time for Peter to do the same.

Peter swung off the expressway in Northern Liberties and headed in the direction of the Philadelphia field office, a route he knew from memory. He glanced over at Neal and smiled, then shifted their hands to the touch controls and called Brian Marcoux to let him know they were almost there.

\-------------

Neal took an immediate liking to Special Agent Brian Marcoux. He looked to be about Peter’s age and was almost Neal’s height, with a narrow waist, bigger biceps than Peter’s, and a full head of close-cropped white hair. Gregarious and welcoming, his blue eyes lit up when he saw Peter, and the two shared an enthusiastic hug.

“Peter! Goddamn good to see you, my friend.”

“You, too, Brian. Been way too long.” Peter pulled back and gave the other man a quick once-over.

“Since the last time we saw each other, or since Quantico?”

“All of the above, I think.” Peter clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to Neal. “And this is Neal Caffrey. Neal, this is Brian Marcoux, my good friend and Quantico classmate.”

“Kept him from sweeping all the awards, too.” Brian chuckled and gave Neal’s hand a firm shake. “Welcome aboard, Neal. Thanks for agreeing to lend us your expertise with this one.”

“My pleasure,” Neal replied with one of his best high-wattage smiles. He looked back and forth between the two men. “Awards?”

Brian nodded and gave them an impish grin. “I’m sure he didn’t tell you, but Peter was top of our class, with Jill Stone and me right behind him. He got the Director’s Leadership Award and the awards for firearms and academics. Only one he didn’t get…”

“Physical fitness,” Peter supplied, gesturing to the other agent’s impressive upper body, visible even under his dress shirt. “Brian was – and still is – a beast.”

“Hey, I need that now more than ever, with all the extra snow on the mountain.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Everyone thinks I’m an old man.”

“You _are_ an old man.”

“Four hundred and fifty-four days, jackass.” Brian turned to Neal and explained, “That’s how much older I am.” He looked back at Peter with a gleam in his eyes. “If you’re sending me to the nursing home, Burke, I’m dragging your illustrious ass along with me.” They broke into laughter, and Neal watched with delight. He loved taking in their banter, picking up things about them and their relationship that no one else would notice. 

Brian took them up to his office and got down to business, going over some basics and letting them know they’d be spending the night at a hotel before heading out to a farm near Bernheisel’s location in the morning. They’d be leaving Peter’s BMW in the field office’s parking garage and would be using a loaner vehicle with PA plates that wouldn’t look out of place in the area.

“Head over to the hotel,” Brian said as he walked them out. “There’s a restaurant right there, and they have evening room service. Grab something to eat, get some sleep, and ignore the case files for the rest of the day. We’ll get a fresh start tomorrow.” He pulled Peter into a brief hug. “Glad to have you here, man.” Turning to Neal, he offered his hand again. “And you, too.”

They said their goodbyes, and as Peter drove them to the hotel, Neal couldn’t help marveling at how he’d been treated. Every agent he’d met treated him differently than he’d been treated as a CI; they gave him the same level of respect as Peter, though with not quite as much reverence. He wasn’t yet used to it, but it made him even more certain that he’d made the right decision by agreeing to help with the case.

By the time they got to their suite, the thrill of being back in the game was getting the better of him, and all Neal wanted to do was ravish Peter. He envisioned pinning the older man against the door and rutting against him until they both found their release, or stripping and letting Peter have his way with him on the bed. Maybe even opening the curtains and sucking Peter off in front of the window; he’d always found it oddly arousing that someone might see them – without knowing for sure whether or not anyone was actually watching.

Peter seemed to have other ideas, though. After dropping his luggage in the far corner of the bedroom, he sat down heavily on one of the double beds, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Neal added his own luggage to the corner, then sat down beside Peter and ran a tentative hand down his back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired and hungry.” He lifted his head and looked over at Neal. “What do you want to do?”

Neal eyed him warily but allowed a smile. “So many ways to take that question.”

“It was meant in more ways than one,” Peter said softly. “But I think we need to discuss some things first, so for now, I just mean as far as eating and getting some rest.”

Neal tried not to look disappointed; he knew Peter had a point. “If you’re up to talking while we eat, why don’t we order from room service and get some things sorted out?”

Peter seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Sounds like a plan. I don’t feel like going out anyway.”

“Do you ever?”

Peter huffed a laugh and nudged him. “Go find the menu, Neal.”

After briefly consulting the menu, Neal placed their order – a strip steak for Peter, chicken marsala for himself – and then joined Peter back on the bed closest to the window. The older man had removed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, making him look even more appealing. Neal did the same, then sat down beside him again.

“So…”

“I’m not even sure where to start,” Peter admitted, staring down at the floor. Neal was about to ask him where he _wanted_ to start when Peter suddenly looked up at him, eyes searching his face.

“What?”

Before Neal fully realized what was happening, Peter leaned in and kissed him. It was tentative but sweet, and Neal shifted to get a better angle, enjoying the scrape of Peter’s late-day beard against his own. He thought about trying to deepen the kiss, but then Peter pulled back, giving him a couple of quick pecks at the end.

For a moment, they just watched each other. Peter ran his fingers lightly down Neal’s arm, making the younger man shiver, before resting his hand on Neal’s thigh and squeezing. Neal felt a hint of arousal deep in his belly, but he pushed it aside for the time being, knowing that wasn’t where Peter wanted to go just yet.

Peter smiled at him and let out a deep sigh. “God, Neal. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

Neal nudged Peter’s foot with his own. “What took you so long?” When Peter did a double-take, Neal grinned and winked at him. “So was it worth the wait?”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly. “It was.” As if to prove his point, Peter kissed him again, this time letting it deepen just slightly before pulling away. “Before we go any further than this, though, we need to talk.”

Neal was tempted to make a crack about how Peter wasn’t normally one for long, heartfelt conversations, but he didn’t want the other man to think he wasn’t taking him seriously. Peter seemed happy after the kisses, but there was a sobering tone to his voice.

Instead, he asked, “Does the conversation involve Elizabeth?”

“Does it – oh. No. El’s known for a long time how I feel about you, and she suspected you felt the same. She’s the one who’s been playing matchmaker. I’m sure it would bother her if you were a woman, but you’re…you.”

Before Neal could respond, there was a knock at the door, and Peter frowned. “That can’t be the food already.” He shrugged at Neal, then stood and made his way to the door. “Who is it?”

“Center City Distributors. I have a delivery for Peter Burke.”

With his usual caution, Peter unlocked the door and opened it slowly, peeking through the opening before glancing back at Neal with a grin. He took a brown grocery bag from the man in the hallway, then fumbled a few dollars out of his money clip and came back inside, locking the door and grinning at Neal over the bag.

“What is it?”

“Welcome gift from Brian.” Peter pulled a six-pack of beer from the bag, holding it up so Neal could see it. “Philly Pale.” He retrieved a white card from the bottom of the bag and read it aloud. “ _Just a six for now, more later this week. Get some rest – long days ahead. Enjoy! – Marcoux_ ”

Peter rooted through a drawer in the kitchenette until he found a bottle opener, then opened a couple of bottles before putting the rest in the small fridge. He handed one to Neal as he sat back down beside him on the bed.

“To old times and new beginnings,” Peter said softly, holding up the bottle.

“New beginnings.” Neal clinked his own against it and took a sip of the beer. “Hmm. Not bad. Little hoppy.”

Peter nodded, taking a long pull of his own beer before leaning his shoulder against Neal’s. “I don’t want you to think this is easy for me,” he said, voice low. “You know, holding back. I won’t lie, Neal. I want what you want. What you wanted the weekend I helped you move in.”

Neal almost choked on his beer. He covered by clearing his throat, then looked over at Peter, who was staring at the bottle in his hand. “So why did you leave?”

Peter shrugged, still refusing to look at him. “I panicked. I…didn’t know for sure until then that you felt the same way.”

“Seriously?” Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “Peter, I’ve been sending you signals for years. Are you really saying it took me pitching a tent in front of you for you to get that I’m attracted to you?”

He regretted saying it almost immediately. Peter glanced up at him, pain flashing in his eyes, before getting up and walking to the window. His head was down, his fingers white around the bottle in his hand, and a dark red flush was working its way up the back of his neck.

Neal often forgot that under the law enforcement exterior, Peter had a sensitive side, especially when it came to those he loved. He stood and put his bottle on the dresser before walking over to Peter, extracting the beer from his tight grip, and putting it next to his own. Peter was eyeing him cautiously when he returned, and he put his hands on the older man’s biceps, pulling him close.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought you knew.”

Peter leaned into Neal, dropping his chin to Neal’s shoulder and letting out a deep breath. “I left because I – I wanted it to be different, you know?”

Neal pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. “Different than what?”

“Different than your other relationships.” He took Neal’s hand and led him back to the bed, then put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders once they were sitting. “How did your relationship with Kate start? Not when you met her, but when you became a couple.”

“Instead of going to Chicago with her boyfriend, she came to my apartment.” He gave Peter a rueful grin. “We started out just making out and ended up in bed together.”

“And Alex?”

“Alex and I were never –”

“Neal.”

“We had drinks together and then went back to my place and had sex.”

“Sara?”

“Sara and I are still on good terms, Peter.” When Peter gave him a knowing look, Neal sighed. “We made out in the archives when we were looking for information about Gerhard Wagner. Mozzie interrupted us.”

“And?”

Neal tried for an admonishing look, but it didn’t quite work. “Between the time we broke into the U-boat and the time it exploded. That’s all you’re getting.” He watched Peter closely, waiting for him to mention Rebecca and hoping he didn’t. Thankfully, Peter had enough tact to avoid a subject neither of them really wanted to discuss. She’d hurt both of them very deeply, and though it had been a few years, the pain from those wounds still hadn’t completely left either of them.

Peter stunned him by leaning in to nuzzle his neck. “I don’t want to be just one of those relationships you rush into,” he murmured, the vibrations from his voice prickling at Neal’s neck, sending a current of arousal through his body. “I know what happens in the end. I’ve been there for the fallout.”

Neal put his fingers under the other man’s chin and pulled up gently, then pressed his lips to Peter’s. The older man gasped in surprise, and Neal’s tongue took advantage, licking hungrily into Peter’s mouth, tasting beer and bewilderment. After a moment, Peter’s own tongue pushed in, surprisingly casual – and more adept as kissing another man than Neal ever would have expected. One of his hands moved to the back of Neal’s neck, and Neal got lost in the moment. He leaned hard against Peter, trying to push him back on the bed, and Peter countered by shifting his weight, keeping them upright and breaking off the kiss.

“Okay, what part of not rushing into things did you not understand?” Peter was a little breathless, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.

“You.” Neal gave him a sly grin. “You’ve kissed a man before.”

Peter eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “I have.”

“I knew it! Wow. How many?”

“A few.”

“More than one.”

“Yes.” Though Peter seemed indifferent, Neal could tell that he was enjoying the fact that he’d surprised the younger man.

“Not counting me.”

“More than one,” Peter confirmed, “not counting you.” 

“Peter, you dog.” 

Before Peter could manage to get out a retort, a knock at the door interrupted them once again. This time, it was their food, and Neal brought their beers out to meet Peter in the small living room area. They sat across from each other at the tiny table and tucked into their meals, their conversation temporarily forgotten.

“So,” Neal finally said around a bite of chicken and rice. “How slow are we talking here?”

Peter thought for a moment, adding some sour cream to his baked potato, before he finally looked up at Neal. “I just think we should take it easy, date for a while.” At Neal’s raised eyebrows, he held up a placating hand. “I know we’ve been dancing around this for years, but our relationship is different now. I’m not your handler anymore. We’re equals.”

Neal snorted a laugh and shook his head. “We’ll never be equals, Peter. You’re still an FBI agent, I’m still a convicted felon.”

“Who served his time – all of it – and is right with the house again. Neal, you’ve been free for well over two years, and you haven’t gone back to the life. You don’t have to answer to anyone but yourself anymore. Hell, if you wanted, you could walk out that door right now, and I couldn’t do anything to stop you.” He waved a hand at the door, then took a bite of his steak.

Neal nudged his foot under the table. “There are a lot of things you could do to stop me.”

“You know what I mean,” Peter said with a chuckle. He ate some more of his potato, eyes shifting from his plate to Neal. “I just don’t want to do anything to hurt you, okay?” His voice was soft now, serious. “I know how many times you’ve been hurt in relationships over the years. The last thing I want to do is add my name to that list.” He stabbed the air with his fork to emphasize the point, then dug into his steak again.

Neal just sat there, stunned, his own fork hovering above his chicken. He could feel the tightness spreading in his chest and did his best to force it away. The last thing he needed was for Peter to see him get emotional over what the other man seemed to think was an innocent comment. 

“Everything okay?” Peter finally asked before taking a long swig of beer.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and tried for something a little more substantial. “Thanks, Peter. So, uh…how come I never knew you were a switch hitter?”

Peter laughed, and Neal couldn’t help smiling. “Wow, no dancing around the issue with you, huh?” He wiped his mouth and fixed Neal with a resolute stare. “The subject never really came up, and it’s not like I go out of my way to make it obvious. Besides, once I met El, I thought she was all I’d ever need.” He glanced away long enough to pick up his fork. “And she was…until the world’s best-looking felon convinced me to let him become a bigger part of my life than he already was.” He speared some steamed asparagus and pointed it at Neal. “And I fell in love with the brilliant sonofabitch.”

Neal’s plastic fork clattered to the table. This time, it was harder to control the emotions, and he had to look away, trying to gather himself. “You’re in love with me?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Peter smirked at him. “Of course I am. Look back over our years together – really think about them – and then tell me you honestly didn’t know.”

As the man across from him continued to eat, Neal did think about their time together. He thought about Peter agreeing to his deal, getting him out of prison, helping him to make something better of his life. In spite of the turmoil his relationship with Neal had brought into his life, Peter had never completely given up on him. After Kate’s death and then Ellen’s, through Keller and Adler and Kramer and Collins. He’d helped Neal find the truth about his father – and had paid a terrible price for it. Then there was Hagen and Rebecca and Neal’s abduction, all of which brought them back together, strengthening the bond that had been torn to shreds by Peter’s false imprisonment – and what Neal did to get him out.

Peter had always been there for him, and whether or not Neal had chosen to acknowledge it, the love had been there, too. It was there in that hangar by the Hudson ( _you have people who care about you_ ), and when he had a gun pointed at Garrett Fowler’s face ( _this isn’t who you are_ ). It was there when Peter hugged him in Cape Verde after their six weeks apart. It was there when they were reunited after Peter’s abduction, and again after Neal’s. It was there the day Peter removed the tracking anklet for the last time, then at the party at June’s.

It was there in the airport when Peter nearly broke down as he said goodbye to Neal, forcing a smile as he held him, telling him to come back and visit sometime – in a voice so thick with emotion that Neal could barely understand him. Neal’s excitement at being able to fly to London just because he wanted to, without having to report to anyone, was almost enough to distract him from the way Peter’s shoulders shook as he walked away. Almost.

Neal stood and paced to the window in the bedroom area, running a hand through his hair. Though he didn’t look at him, he was aware of Peter’s presence when he walked up behind him.

“Neal? You okay?”

Neal nodded and turned, wrapping his arms around Peter and resting his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “I’m in love with you, too.”

“Mmm,” Peter hummed, once again holding Neal, his thumb tracing circles in the small of Neal’s back. “Now see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

With a shaky chuckle, Neal pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “No, it’s actually kind of a relief.”

“Yeah. Now come on, there’s still food left on the table.” Peter slung an arm around his shoulders and led him back, making a grand gesture out of waiting until Neal sat down, then pushing his chair in for him. As Neal laughed, Peter gave him a quick bow, then sat across from him.

“Chivalry, thy name is Peter Burke.” Neal reached across and squeezed Peter’s hand. “So, is this our first date? You know, technically?”

“Sure, we could call it that,” Peter agreed as he finished the last of his potato. “And for the record, I never fuck on the first date.”

This time, Neal was ready for Peter’s shock attempt. He merely raised an eyebrow and smiled at the man across from him over a bite of rice. “Never say never, Agent Burke.” In one swift move, he slipped off a shoe under the table and rested his toes against Peter’s crotch. 

“Goddammit, Neal.” Peter’s knees banged against the bottom of the table, and he quickly slid his chair back out of Neal’s reach, but he was smiling. “Now you’ll be lucky if you get to second base.”

Neal shrugged off the comment, gave him a wicked grin, and went back to eating. They managed to finish what little was left of their meals with only a bit of small talk, and after cleaning up, they took turns washing up and changing into their sleep clothes – their undershirts, silk pajama pants for Neal, and cotton ones for Peter. 

They ended up lounging together on one of the beds, watching a movie. Peter flat-out refused Neal’s first choice, _The Shawshank Redemption_ , and though he wouldn’t say why, the anxious look on his face told Neal it was likely due to the prison rape and solitary confinement scenes. Neal countered by refusing to watch _Hoosiers_ on the basis that it was a sports movie. They finally agreed on _12 Angry Men_ and settled in, leaning back against the headboard, Neal curled up against Peter’s side with the older man’s arm around his shoulders.

In spite of their earlier exchange about sex, Neal found that he was perfectly happy just cuddling with Peter. It was relaxing to be close without the pressure to do more, and it was nice to be on the receiving end of the affection. It had been a very long time since he’d dated a man, and even longer since one had gotten this close to him; the feel of another man’s strong arms wrapped around him – instead of having his own wrapped around a woman – was an agreeable change.

Though he only had one more beer, letting Peter polish off the rest of the six-pack, Neal didn’t remember drifting off to sleep or being coaxed to lay down with the sheet pulled up over him. He woke in the middle of the night to Peter slipping out of bed to get rid of the processed beer; when he returned couple of minutes later, Neal propped himself up on an elbow.

“Hey,” Peter whispered, sliding back under the covers beside him. “If I woke you, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.” He leaned in to give Neal a quick kiss, and Neal managed a sleepy smile.

“Mmm. So it wasn’t a dream?”

“It was real.”

“You told me you’re in love with me.”

“I did. And now I’m telling you to go back to sleep.” Peter rested his hand on Neal’s hip and let his head drop to the pillow, his eyelids already drooping. Neal didn’t respond, just watching in the dim light coming through the windows as Peter succumbed to the pull of sleep.

Thrilled with the knowledge that he hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing, Neal nestled in against Peter like it was the most normal thing in the world and drifted away.

\-------------

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/WKJlf5u.jpg)

Peter sat in the passenger seat of Brian’s Tahoe and smiled, watching through the windshield as the towns got smaller and spaced farther apart. He was relaxed for the time being, though his anticipation increased as the distance to their destination decreased.

Neal was behind him in the backseat, looking out the window and occasionally joining in on the conversation between the two agents. Peter knew he was still reeling somewhat from the previous evening’s conversation – and from Peter’s boldness. Kissing him first, saying he was in love with him, allowing him to sleep in the same bed. Peter had surprised even himself.

When the alarm on his phone had awakened Peter that morning, Neal had still been sound asleep. It struck Peter as odd at first, knowing as he did that Neal was normally a light sleeper and an early riser. As he stepped into the shower, though, it dawned on him that this was probably the first time in years that Neal was truly at peace enough to let his guard down. He wasn’t running anywhere, Peter wasn’t chasing him, he wasn’t wearing a tracker monitored by the U.S. Marshals, he was free and had a stable job and a nice apartment in the city he’d come to think of as home, and after years of skirting – and sometimes downright ignoring – the issue, the two of them had finally been able to start exploring their feelings for each other.

After nearly four decades of chasing it, Neal Caffrey was finally living the good life.

Peter had warned Neal, though, to be discreet while working on the case. Brian Marcoux was a master at reading people and would be able to tell immediately that something was going on between them if there was even the most subtle of hints. While Peter wasn’t ashamed of pursuing a relationship with Neal, and he knew Brian was open-minded enough to accept it, he worried about how it would look from a professional standpoint. Thankfully, Neal had readily agreed with him, and they’d shared a few tender kisses before leaving for the field office.

They’d started their journey on a major highway, but the backlog from a pair of traffic tie-ups had driven Brian to make his own detour, taking the lesser-traveled back roads through a countryside that reminded Peter of the area where he’d spent his childhood. He told Brian as much, and they started exchanging stories. During a lull in the conversation, Brian glanced back over his shoulder at Neal.

“What about you, Neal? Where did you grow up?”

“I, uh, St. Louis,” Neal said, sounding a little baffled by the agent’s attempt to include him. He shifted to sit up straighter but still leaned against the door.

“So what did you do? Any crazy tales from the Gateway City?”

“Nah, not really,” Neal replied. “I mostly tried to stay out of trouble. Swim team, debate team, marksmanship, art. Played a little pool. That’s about it.”

Peter glanced at Brian and found him looking right back out of the corner of his eye. They both knew Neal was evading, though he seemed interested in joining their conversation in general. Peter hadn’t told Brian about Neal’s reluctance to talk about his childhood, but true to form, the other agent got the hint immediately.

“Nice. Ever been to Amish country?” 

Peter caught Brian’s eye again and slipped him a grateful smile.

“No, I haven’t. What should I expect?”

“Well, there’s the stuff that’s common knowledge – horse and buggy traffic, plain clothes, beards, no electricity or indoor plumbing, one-room schoolhouses, and so on. As far as what to expect, we’ll be spending some time with the Gingerich family – Levi, Naomi, and their five kids. They own the farm that’s closest to the one where Bernheisel is holed up, and the boys’ bedroom has a perfect line-of-sight view. They’ve been welcoming and cooperative so far, but I don’t think they know what to make of us.”

Brian stopped at an intersection and turned to look at Neal. “If you’re used to the city life and modern conveniences, I won’t lie – this will be a bit of a shock. Just hang out, watch the rest of us for a while, and try not to overwhelm them. Subtlety may not be your thing, but it’s what works best with the Amish.” He gave Neal a small smile, then checked the road and continued through the intersection.

“You’ll be staying at a hotel about twenty miles from the Gingerich farm. We would’ve gotten you something closer, but…well, there isn’t anything closer, unless you want to stay in a roach motel, and Peter knows I won’t allow that to happen. If we need to, we can crash at the farm. No indoor plumbing or television, but we still get cell reception, and it’s not all that bad. It’s peaceful, the beds are clean and comfortable, and the meals are outstanding. Heard enough yet?”

“Yeah. Sounds like an adventure.”

“Oh, it’s an adventure alright. Amish summer camp.” Brian reached over and thumped Peter’s knee, then signaled and turned onto a small country road. He grew quiet, and Peter could tell that he’d slipped back into FBI mode, his eyes scanning everything around them even as he drove.

They turned down another road, then a few miles later, turned onto an even smaller one that looked barely maintained. Brian’s senses seemed to have gone into overdrive, and Peter found himself mirroring the other agent’s actions, becoming hyperaware of their surroundings.

Finally, several miles down the road, Brian pulled off beside a rusty gate in a wooded area. He reached into the console and retrieved a small earpiece, which he inserted firmly into his ear. “Just hang tight for a minute,” he told them before hopping out of the SUV and walking over to open the gate. Peter could see him speaking into a small wireless transmitter but couldn’t hear him, even with the window down. 

“Peter?” Neal’s hand came up between the seatback and the door to rest on Peter’s shoulder. “What’s going on? Is this one of those movies where we take a wrong turn and get attacked by Amish cannibals?”

“Amish _what_?” Peter checked to make sure that Brian was facing away from them before reaching up to brush his fingers over Neal’s. “Relax. Security precautions. Looks like Brian’s letting them know we’re coming in.”

As Brian turned and started back toward the Tahoe, Neal pulled his hand back, and Peter turned his focus back to their surroundings.

“We’re clear,” Brian said as he slid back into the driver’s seat, not bothering to hook his seatbelt. He coasted through the gate, then got out and went back to close it before getting back in and driving slowly down the path, little more than two dusty ruts with grass growing on either side. “This is a back way in to the Gingerich farm. The last thing we need is for Bernheisel to notice vehicles going in and out of there and figure out what’s happening. We’ll park at the edge of the woods, which isn’t visible from his place, and walk in from there.”

Brian shifted into low gear, and the Tahoe crawled along, small branches scraping against the windows as they drove deeper into the woods. They went nearly half a mile before Brian started riding the brakes, coasting them to a gentle stop beside an older black Jeep Cherokee. He shut off the engine and turned in his seat so he could look at both of them.

“When you get out, don’t slam the doors; just lean against them to latch them. It’s pretty quiet out here and sounds carry. The last thing we need is to tip him off that there are vehicles back here. Put your necessities in one bag and put everything else in the back of the Jeep. That’s your loaner car.” He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to Peter. “When we’re up at the farm, try to stay out of sight. Levi and his boys will show you how to get around outside without being seen from Bernheisel’s place. You’ll be able to go to the outhouse and the big white barn – great vantage point in the barn, by the way. We have a couple of guys set up in the loft at all times if you want to see what’s going on. Any questions?”

Neither of them had questions, and they quickly did as they’d been told, sorting their bags and putting the extra ones in the back of the Cherokee. As they made their way out of the woods and across a large back field to the barn, Peter could already feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

It had been ages since he’d been involved in an operation this large, this covert. After Neal left, he’d cut way back on the field work and settled into his role as ASAC. He tried to tell himself it was just the way things worked, but in truth, he’d gotten so used to having Neal with him in the field that it just wasn’t the same without him there.

When they got to the back of the barn, Brian lifted his cuff to his mouth, speaking softly into the transmitter. “PH1, ten twenty-three times three.” He looked to be listening to something, then gave them a thumbs-up. A few seconds later, a small door to Brian’s right opened, and he ushered them inside before following and closing the door.

As Peter took a look around, he was surprised by how normal it looked. There was very little evidence that it was the temporary home of an FBI command center. Part of the barn was stacked with rectangular hay bales, another part housed feed sacks, and there were various woodworking tools set up on workbenches at the opposite end, as well as assorted farm implements scattered throughout.

Brian introduced them to the surveillance team in the barn, then took them up to the loft, where they got to get an up-close look at Bernheisel’s farm. There wasn’t any activity at the time, but Peter had to admit, the loft gave them a better view than they were likely to get anywhere else.

“Okay,” Brian said softly, ushering them through a different door, this time in the side of the barn facing the house. “If you stick to this path, you can go from the barn to the house without being seen.” He pointed to a small building behind the house as they approached. “There’s the outhouse. Good news, it’s a one-holer. Bad news, we have to share it with seven Gingeriches and everyone else who’s in on the op. But, you know…” He waved his hand around. “Sometimes it’s easier to just find somewhere else. And Levi said it helps keep the dust down.” He shrugged and flashed an apologetic half-smile, then mumbled something into the transmitter and led them in through the back door of the house.

Peter wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but other than the lack of electronics and appliances, the Gingerich home looked pretty ordinary. They walked into a combination kitchen and dining room with a propane refrigerator, a wood-burning cookstove, a hutch and a few cupboards, a sink with a hand-operated pump, and a trestle table with chairs at the ends and benches on either side.

A woman who looked to be about Neal’s age was kneading dough on the counter with a preteen girl, and both turned to look at them when they entered. Peter gave them a polite smile, and they returned it, though theirs seemed more reserved.

“ _Guder mariye_ ,” Brian said to them, holding a hand up in greeting. “ _Wu iss Levi_?” Peter gaped at him, but his friend simply shrugged. Neal seemed more curious than anything, his head cocked just slightly. Waiting, Peter guessed, to try to decipher the reply. Before the woman could answer, they were distracted by the sound of people coming down the stairs in the next room. A man came into view, followed by two boys. All were dressed in blue shirts and black pants with suspenders.

“Morning, Brian,” the man said, giving him a small wave. He gave Peter a once-over, then turned his eyes to Neal before finally shaking his head. “You English keep multiplying.”

“Well, then, Levi, we should fit right in.” Brian nodded at the two boys, both of whom looked like they were trying to figure out whether or not they missed a joke. “Levi Gingerich, this is Special Agent Peter Burke and his security analyst, Neal Caffrey. Peter, Neal – Levi is our gracious host.” He pointed to the older boy, then the younger one. “This is Jonas, and this is Daniel. And we’ve already met Levi’s wife, Naomi, and their daughter, Esther.”

Naomi Gingerich nodded at them as Esther went back to kneading. “Ruth and Miriam are out in the garden.”

“We’ve asked them to go about their daily routines,” Brian explained. “Bernheisel might not have ever noticed anything that’s normally happening over here, but we don’t want to take the chance.”

“Speaking of which,” Levi said, motioning the boys toward a side door. “Out to the workshop.” He shook hands with both Peter and Neal on the way by. “ _Wilkum_ , gentlemen.” After donning the straw hats that were hanging next to the door, they disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived.

“C’mon upstairs,” Brian said, ushering them through the living room to the stairs. They ended up in a sparsely-furnished bedroom that looked to have been recently rearranged. The two beds were along the walls opposite the window with dressers pressed up against the footboards, and there was a small table with two chairs next to the door.

By the window, an agent with binoculars was watching the neighboring property intently, while another was putting information into a tablet computer. An array of complex surveillance equipment – everything from a camera with a large telephoto lens to parabolic microphones – surrounded them, and both were wearing shoulder holsters.

“They’re not messing around,” Neal murmured next to Peter’s ear.

“Absolutely not,” Brian said in his best library voice. “This guy’s not getting away again. Not only has he been supplying fake documentation to illegal migrant workers all over Pennsylvania and the surrounding states, but now he’s aiding known terrorist cells.” He dropped his voice to a raspy whisper and motioned them to lean in close. “And these guys aren’t fucking around. The group we took down in Chester – what we found there wasn’t listed in the report, was it?”

Peter thought for a moment before answering. “It said you found the false documentation, radicalization propaganda, C-4 and ANFO, and indicators of suspicious substances.”

Brian glanced at Neal, then stared hard at Peter. “The ‘suspicious substances’ we found were cyclosarin and tabun. They were also in contact with someone who claimed to be able to get them sizable quantities of VX from a stockpile in Russia.”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He squinted at Brian, who simply nodded, and Peter suddenly felt ill. He looked away and took a few deep breaths through his nose, rubbing at his chin with his fingertips.

“Wait…VX, as in the nerve agent?” Neal was looking back and forth between them. Peter couldn’t answer, vaguely concerned that his breakfast might end up all over the hardwood floor. “Peter?”

Brian motioned for them to follow him, then walked down the short hallway to another bedroom. This one had a larger bed and looked to be the one shared by Levi and Naomi. Once inside, Brian closed the door and fixed Neal with a grim frown.

“Yeah, VX, as in the nerve agent. Even without it, though, they had enough cyclosarin and tabun to…” He trailed off and looked to Peter, who shook his head before walking to the open window. There was a slight breeze blowing through, ruffling the curtains, and Peter leaned into it. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

“They were living here legally because of Bernheisel’s documents,” Brian continued. “And who knows how many more are out there. We need to take this guy down.” He walked over and clapped Peter on the shoulder. “You okay?”

Peter turned to look at his old friend, and Brian’s blue eyes were filled with an inspiring combination of confidence and determination. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s get to work.”

\-------------

“Oh, god,” Brian said, laying out flat on the floor and putting his hands behind his head. “I think that’s seriously the best pizza I’ve ever had. No, wait – not as good as Sam’s in Wildwood, but close. I am so going to regret this in the morning. Maybe.”

Neal, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the room’s sofa, simply nodded and sipped at his wine, a proprietors reserve red that Brian had surprised them with at the hotel. He had a few more bottles in his room, but he’d wisely only brought one to their room, along with a couple of six-packs of Trӧegs. Peter stuck to the beer as usual, and Neal had become one with the wine, while Brian met them somewhere in the middle.

Though they were in a small town, it was a college town, so the hotel was above average, and there was a gourmet pizza shop nearby. They’d each ordered a small pizza and a side salad – Neal went with white pizza, Peter with his typical pepperoni and mushroom, and Brian ordered taco pizza. They shared slices of each, and Brian floored them by adding Frank’s Red Hot sauce to everything he ate. 

Peter was stretched out on the sofa, leaning back against the arm and flipping through the TV channels in search of a baseball game. He grunted in response to Brian, then nudged Neal with his foot. “So I take it Brian’s taste in wine is better than mine?”

Neal turned to glance up at him, grinning and trying not to pay too much attention to how amazing Peter looked. “Oh, you’re in different dimensions. Like comparing processed cheese slices to Beeler Gruyère.” 

Peter snorted and shook his head, but the smile that played at the corners of his mouth let Neal know that the older man hadn’t taken him too seriously. All three of them were pleasantly buzzed, though they knew they had to limit themselves. 

Neal had spent most of the day working with the white collar team, poring over phone transcripts, materials orders, and forged documents intercepted by undercover agents, while Peter helped coordinate the plan to take down Bernheisel and Brian split his time between the various teams on the farm. After a long day of work, all three were just happy to be able to relax and let down their guard.

“Shit, I’ve gotta remember to call Vicki before I hit the hay,” Brian said, following it up with a stretch and a grin. The question that followed caught Neal completely off-guard. “Got anyone to check in with, Neal?”

“Hmm?” Neal swirled the wine around in his glass. “Uh, no.”

“How is it possible that the best-looking guy in the room is the only one who’s single?” It seemed to take a moment for what he said to register with him, and he laughed, sitting up and reaching for his beer. “Wait, don’t take that the wrong way – just a compliment, man. I’m as straight as an arrow.”

“Arrows flex around the bow and then oscillate as they fly through the air,” Peter murmured. “Try again.”

“Shut up, nerd.”

“Gym rat.”

“Mathlete.”

“Second place in firearms testing.”

“Ouch. Fucker.” Brian tossed his empty paper plate at Peter, who caught it deftly and flung it back like a Frisbee. “Anyway,” he continued, turning back to Neal, “I know I’m not the only one who noticed that you have a one-boy fan club at the farm.”

Neal rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Jonas Gingerich, Levi’s fourteen-year-old son, seemed to have taken an interest in Neal; he’d noticed the boy staring at him several times during the day. Each time Neal caught him looking, the boy had blushed and disappeared. “Ah, I just don’t think he’s used to seeing a guy who looks…”

“Pretty,” Peter offered before taking a long gulp of his beer. Brian cracked up, but Neal nodded his assent.

“I was going to say well put-together, but yes, that’s another way of putting it.”

Brian sat up straighter, his eyes going from Neal to Peter. “Okay, you weren’t offended by the pretty thing? Now I’ve got to ask.” His eyebrows raised with the unspoken question, and Neal shrugged.

“I’m…” He glanced at Peter, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. “I don’t really like labels. Pansexual, I guess, is the best way of putting it.” At that, even Peter sat up, now clearly interested in the direction the conversation was taking. “If I’m attracted to someone and love them and have a deep connection with them, then gender and sexuality become kind of…irrelevant.”

“Wow.” Brian cocked his head and pondered his beer bottle for a moment. “So, kind of like Peter, but not –” He stopped as soon as his fuzzy brain caught up, and his eyes went wide, darting nervously to Peter. “Oh. Oh shit. He knows, right? I didn’t just – did I?”

“Relax, Marcoux,” Peter said softly. “He knows.”

“Just since yesterday,” Neal clarified, smirking at Peter. “I suspected before, but I’ve only ever known Peter with Elizabeth. The subject never really came up.” They sat in silence for a moment, digesting this information. Something clicked with Neal, and his eyes shifted between Brian and Peter. “Wait a minute. I’ve worked with Peter for the better part of a decade and didn’t know for sure until yesterday. You spent what, four or five months with him? How did _you_ find out?” He didn’t plan for his tone to be quite so accusatory, but the wine had definitely loosened him up.

Brian just laughed, though, shrugging it off and fixing Peter with a mischievous grin. “I knew Peter back when he was younger and crazier and didn’t have quite the tolerance for alcohol that he does now.”

Neal looked back at Peter and found him blushing a deep shade of red. He wouldn’t look at Neal, instead staring at Brian, then glancing down at his beer bottle before downing the last of it and pushing himself off the sofa to get a replacement. When he returned, he sat at the end of the sofa, and Neal got up from the floor to sit at the opposite end.

“Well?”

“What?” Peter’s eyes almost met his. But not quite. He let out a long sigh that turned into a groan at the end. “I was young and drunk, and Brian was a _lot_ more metrosexual back then, and I…hit on him.”

“Okay, I might need to hear that story. Yesterday.”

Peter closed his eyes and frowned, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. Neal looked to Brian, who was watching Peter closely.

“We had a free weekend because it was a holiday,” Brian said, his voice subdued but laced with hints of humor, “and we all went into town on Saturday – supposedly to get food, but really to get shit-faced.” At that, Peter’s mouth curled up into a smile, though he still hadn’t opened his eyes. “At the time, I’d put a lot of work into my pecs and abs, and I liked to show them off. I had this trick where I’d lean back, put a quarter on my chest, then flex the muscles enough to pop it down to my stomach.

“I did it a few times, and the girls were eating it up. And so was Peter, but he didn’t know I saw him.” Peter finally opened his eyes and glanced at Neal a little self-consciously before looking down at his beer bottle. “So one of the times I did it, I pulled out the front of my pants and let the quarter slide down into my underwear. Of course, one of the managers picked that moment to come over and tell me I needed to put my shirt back on, and the girls were afraid I’d get them kicked out, so they left. Just as I was about to sit back down, Peter came over…” He trailed off in an expectant tone, and Peter, still blushing, took a long swig of beer.

“And?” Neal leaned forward, trying to get Peter to look at him.

“I, uh…I asked him if he had a quarter I could borrow for the jukebox.” Peter finally made eye contact but frowned at Neal’s incredulous gape. “Hey, I was pretty drunk, and he was the one who took his shirt off. It was like he’d gone to the gym and – and engraved an invitation into his body.”

Neal couldn’t help laughing at that, and he was secretly relieved when Brian did the same. “No, I just – wow. Peter, I had no idea. I mean, you hate flirting.”

“He’s much better at flirting with men than he is with women,” Brian offered. “And the alcohol probably helped.”

“Didn’t hurt,” Peter agreed with a nod.

“So what happened?”

“I told him he had the wrong idea about me.” He gave Peter a rueful grin. “And then he asked if he could do body shots off my abs.”

“No. _Really?_ Peter?”

Again, Peter nodded, running a hand down over his face. “And he told me he was very straight, and when that registered with me, I almost threw up on him. When I got back from the bathroom, he had a ginger ale waiting for me, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“And, no, I didn’t let him do body shots off my abs,” Brian said, mostly to break the tension. It worked, as Peter finally allowed himself to laugh. “I did help him find a sort-of boyfriend, though.”

“Hmm. Yeah, T.J. Powers. He was my type, too – dark hair, blue eyes, long and lean, really smart.” Peter looked down at his bottle, absently drawing patterns in the condensation with his thumb, obviously realizing he’d just described Neal. “Didn’t last very long, though.

He’d piqued Neal’s curiosity, and though he guessed from Peter’s lack of eye contact that maybe he shouldn’t ask about the relationship itself, Neal had another question. “So then what happened?”

“Then Jill happened.” Peter shrugged and looked back up at him. “When she went to California, I gave up on dating – men or women – for…well, until I met El.” His eyes locked on Neal’s, and the love in them made Neal’s heart race. “And you know the rest of the story.” His gaze lingered long enough that Neal almost forgot there was someone else in the room. 

“Well,” Brian finally said, breaking the silence. “I should probably get back and get some water in me before I start sleeping this off. We’re looking at a pretty long day tomorrow.” He gave Neal a pointed stare, then turned it to Peter. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, you, too. Thanks for the wine and the beer.” Peter started to stand, but Brian waved for him to stay put.

“I can see myself out. If you guys need anything, remember, I’m at the other end of the hall – 301.” Again, his eyes found theirs in turn, and he seemed to be debating whether or not he had anything else to say. His gaze settled on Peter. “I won’t ask about El, because I know she must be okay with…whatever’s going on, or you wouldn’t be doing it. Just don’t let it get in the way of the case. That’s all I ask. We really need to take this guy down.”

Peter returned his stare and gave him a single, crisp nod. “Of course.”

Looking between them, Neal could see trust in their eyes – a deep, abiding trust that he knew Peter didn’t give over lightly. It had taken until nearly the end of his sentence before he’d seen it directed at him.

“Okay.” Seemingly satisfied, Brian raised his hand in a wave before opening the door. “G’night.”

When he was gone, neither man moved at first. Peter stared at the door for well over a minute before finally getting up and locking it. He drained the last of his beer, then stopped in the kitchenette to switch it out for two bottles of water. Sitting down beside Neal, he put the bottles on the small coffee table and sighed.

“Well, that was…”

“Revealing.” Neal ran a tentative finger up Peter’s leg, though the other man stopped it before it got too far. “You can do body shots off my abs.”

Peter groaned. “Christ. I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

“I wasn’t joking.” Neal gave him a questioning look, and Peter motioned for him to come closer. He slid down the small sofa and relaxed into Peter’s side, and the agent wrapped an arm around him and planted a gentle kiss on his temple. Neal smiled and leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder. It felt good to be this close – still a novelty, yet as comfortable as a well-loved shirt. “So, he knows.”

“I told you, Brian’s quick, and he’s an expert in reading non-verbal communication, especially proxemics and vocalics. You should see him question a suspect. It’s unnerving watching him systematically dismantle someone. I’ve only seen it a few times, but it gives me chills.” Peter gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.

“Think I’ll pass.”

“It’s a little too late for that.” Peter shifted next to him, then frowned at the sofa. “I don’t want you to read too much into this, but I think we should go to bed. More room to stretch out and relax.”

“How much is too much reading?”

Peter smirked, then stood and grabbed a water bottle. “Why don’t you come find out?”

Neal swiped the other bottle and was by Peter’s side before he even made it to the bed. They quickly took turns washing up and changing and were making out on the bed soon after. It felt even better this time; Peter was getting into it, pulling Neal to him, their bodies pressed together as they lay side by side. Neal’s libido was quick to respond to the heady feeling of Peter kissing him breathless, and he found himself vaguely hoping it wouldn’t freak the older man out the way it had months ago.

Instead, Peter wrapped a leg around Neal’s and nudged him with his own growing arousal. Neal’s heart leapt in his chest, and he grabbed on to Peter’s bicep, riding this beautiful new wave of sensation. He’d dreamed of something like this, fantasized about it for years, and finally – finally, after so long – it was really happening. In, of all places, a hotel room in rural Pennsylvania. 

Neal shivered and moaned into Peter’s mouth, and the older man gasped and reluctantly broke off the kiss. He rested his forehead against Neal’s as they both tried to catch their breath.

“Neal, I – there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Hmm?” Neal had moved to Peter’s neck, his lips brushing over the heated skin there.

“Neal.”

Neal leaned back far enough to look at him. “What?”

“It’s not going to happen tonight, but I need you to know that I – I’ve never…had sex with a man before. Not, you know, the whole way.”

Neal couldn’t keep the startled look from his face, and he instantly regretted it as embarrassment flashed in Peter’s eyes. The older man rolled onto his back and pushed himself up against the headboard, bending his knees and clasping his hands in his lap to hide his erection. “Whoa, no, wait a minute.” Neal, too, sat up, fixing him with an apologetic look. “It’s just…I…you and El…”

“It’s alright,” Peter said softly, though it didn’t sound like it was. He paused for a moment, then cocked his head at Neal. “Wait. Me and El what?” Neal just waggled his eyebrows, but that managed to get a grin out of Peter. “Yeah, okay, that’s one area where we’re never lacking.”

“Going through withdrawal yet?” Neal leaned in and planted a light kiss high on Peter’s jaw.

“God, yes. And I – I do want you. I just want to take it slowly, now that we have the chance to do it the right way. I want this to be good for both of us.”

“And that’s why you and Elizabeth still have what you do.”

Peter looked up at him sharply, then broke into a smile that Neal had rarely seen – but which El probably saw on a regular basis. It was shy and sweet, his warm brown eyes creasing at the corners.

“So, can I ask?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m not sure how much there is to tell.”

“You said earlier that you had a boyfriend at Quantico. Was he the only one?”

“The only man I’ve ever been with?” When Neal nodded, Peter gave him a bit of a chiding look. “No, of course not. I started with girls, but I started experimenting with guys when I was sixteen. Spent a lot of time making out with Todd Robbins at the stables down the road. Well, more than just making out, but we never…we understood the basic concept, but we were too scared to try. Got to be experts at getting each other off, though.” He gave Neal a grin that made his insides melt – and got a response from his flagging erection.

“After him, well, college. I got pretty experienced there, but I just never got to that point with anyone. I got to mess around some while I was playing ball. There were a few gay and bi players in the minors. But I…I don’t know.” He was blushing again, looking down at his hands. Neal grabbed one of them and squeezed. When Peter continued, his voice was nearly a whisper, but it was still strong and steady. “I don’t know if I was scared or just waiting for the right man. Obviously, I’ve never had the same problem with women. With guys, though, I was fine just getting off. And, you know, being…intimate, I guess.” He paused and finally looked back up at Neal. “I want it with you, though. I do.”

Neal’s heart clenched, and he had to look away. It probably shouldn’t have meant so much to him that Peter wanted him to be his first, but it did. He felt a strange sense of honor mixed in with the attraction and love. He’d always deeply admired Peter, even before he realized he was in love with him. To have such a gift given to him by the man he respected more than anyone was overwhelming. 

Needing to distract himself – and Peter – from the intensity of his emotions, Neal cleared his throat and leaned against the other man. “So, this guy, T.J. – he was your last relationship with a guy?”

Peter stiffened against him, and Neal wanted to take the question back. He hadn’t realized it would be such a sensitive subject, and he hoped he hadn’t gone too far, especially after what had just passed between them.

“Yeah, he was,” Peter finally said, a trace of painful regret in his voice. “After what happened with him, I never wanted to be with another man. Until you.” A shudder went through Peter, and Neal looked up to see that the older man’s eyes were shining with tears.

“Peter? Hey…”

Peter shook his head and closed his eyes, his lashes growing damp at the corners. “I thought he might be, uh, something more.” His ran a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath. “But he wasn’t. He wasn’t. He tried to go further than I’d gone before, and I panicked. I told him what I just told you, and he…it was bad. He ridiculed me, made me feel like a fool. Told me that he couldn’t be with a virgin, and that if I was too much of a coward to fuck a man, I’d never make it as an –” His voice broke, and he choked back something that sounded way too close to a sob and turned Neal’s blood cold.

“Peter, stop.” This time, it was Neal’s turn to be the comforting presence. He wrapped his arms around Peter and pulled him close, feeling the other man trembling as he struggled for control. “Shh. I’ve got you.” Neal’s fingertips ran up and down Peter’s back, and he tried not to be unnerved by the role reversal. He’d rarely seen Peter stripped so emotionally bare before, though he’d been close that day at the airport. Neal had left him then, had put an ocean between them. He wasn’t going anywhere now.

True to form, Peter was able to pull himself back together quickly, and to Neal’s relief, without actually breaking down. When his breathing evened out, he wiped at his damp lashes with his thumbs and relaxed against Neal, eventually even whispering an unnecessary apology.

Neal didn’t even know what to say, wasn’t prepared for something like this, but he felt like he had to give this wonderful man some words of comfort. “You know I’ll never do anything like that to you, right?” Peter stilled against him but didn’t respond. “When you’re ready, we’ll figure it out. That’s what we do.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “I won’t hurt you. Ever.”

Peter took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a long, relieved sigh. “Thank you.” 

Neal nodded and kissed his temple, feeling that same relief himself. They lay like that for countless minutes before Peter finally pulled away far enough to bring his lips to Neal’s. It started out as sweet, simple kiss but turned into something more desperate. Peter needed reassurance, needed to know that he was safe in this new facet of his relationship with Neal.

Neal tried to give it to him, returning his kisses with equal fervor, his arms a refuge from the bad memories. One hand moved to the back of Peter’s head, threading through the fine brown hair, and Peter moaned into his mouth.

Though he wanted desperately to take things beyond where they’d gone so far, Neal held back, waiting to see what direction Peter would take. He didn’t have to wait long for the older man to slip out of his grasp and turn the tables, rolling them over so Neal was under him. He moved cautiously, deliberately, still stinging from his earlier revelations, but taking strength from Neal’s actions – and his promise.

Peter slid against him over and over, cotton on silk, hard lines and uncaged lust. This was something new, something awakening between them, this thing they’d wanted for so long that they weren’t sure how to cope with finally being able to have it.

It didn’t last long, not for either of them. Peter came first, an arch of his back and a soft gasp, before burying his face in the pillow next to Neal’s head to stifle his ragged groans. Seeing Peter in this moment of sheer passion, something he once thought he’d never get to witness, brought Neal to that same place. His was more brazen, muscles tensing, gasping for breath under Peter’s muscular body, forcing out a cry that brought a smile to Peter’s lips.

They held each other, coming down, panting in the afterglow. Peter chuckled into Neal’s shoulder, a carefree sound that brought a pleasing warmth to Neal’s soul. When Peter finally lifted his head and looked into Neal’s eyes, there was a pure happiness there that made Neal break into a grin.

“You okay?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he blew out a shaky breath. “I’m…yeah. Uh. Okay.”

“So eloquent.”

“Mmm.” Peter rolled off him but stayed close, apparently not in any hurry to get out of his damp pants. There was a vague hint of a goofy grin on his face, equal parts bliss and exhaustion. “Neal.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Just wanted to say your name. And hear you answer.”

Neal smirked at him. “You really need to get some sleep.”

Peter shook his head and reached for Neal’s hand. “Mmm, maybe. That was just…unexpected.” He pushed himself up and looked into Neal’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Neal said with a smile. “You’re not the only one who got something out of it, though.” He nodded down at himself. “I should be thanking you, too. You know, for letting me go there.”

Peter ducked his head. “I told you, I want it, too. I just need time. You. I just need you.”

“Peter.” Neal blinked at him, a little overcome. This was a side of Peter he rarely saw, though he’d always been sure it was in the man somewhere. 

They watched each other fondly as a long minute passed, neither speaking. It was Peter who finally broke the silence, nudging Neal with his foot. “We should get cleaned up. I don’t want to spend the night glued to my boxers.”

Neal snorted and shook his head. “Buzzkill.”

“Practical.” Peter shrugged and stood, then seemed to be struck with a boatload of modesty. He’d just shared an intense – if a bit haphazard – sexual experience with Neal. And now he was bashful about stripping in front of him. Neal couldn’t help beaming at him.

“Problem, Peter?”

Thankfully, Peter took the question the way Neal intended it, as gentle teasing and not ridicule. He glanced down at himself, then back up at Neal, and cocked his head at the younger man. “No problem at all.” In one smooth motion, he pulled down his pajama pants and boxers, stepping out of them without hesitation. He dropped the boxers into his mesh laundry bag, then draped the pants over the chair in the corner. After a moment’s thought, he stripped off his t-shirt and dropped it next to his pants.

Before Neal could get a good look at him, Peter disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the water running, and after a moment, Peter emerged with a wet washcloth. As he padded naked over to the bed, Neal got his first real look.

Even in his mid-fifties, Peter still looked good. Really good. And his self-consciousness was completely unnecessary, as it turned out. Even in his current state, the man was stunning, and Neal gave him an appreciative hum. Peter just flashed him a sweet smile, then held up the washcloth.

“Your turn.”

Neal had never been particularly shy about being naked in front of someone, especially if he was attracted to them, and he did need to rinse his pants before the silk was ruined – if it already wasn’t. He slipped off the bed and stood right in front of Peter, then pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. Peter’s eyebrows shot up at the younger man’s lack of underwear, but his smile widened.

Neal reached for the washcloth, but Peter pulled it away and shook his head. “Let me do it.” Without giving Neal a chance to respond, Peter dropped to one knee in front of him.

Neal almost forgot how to breathe. 

Peter ran the lukewarm washcloth lightly over the younger man’s skin, wiping away the stickiness, his eyes giving Neal’s body a thorough once-over. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “I wish you could see how you look from here.” When he was done, he put the cloth aside and ran his hands up Neal’s thighs, then leaned in and pressed a kiss into the inside of Neal’s leg.

“Whoa,” Neal breathed, not quite sure when the tables had been turned. Peter did say he’d gotten pretty experienced in college, but this – Neal was not expecting this. He wasn’t exactly sure what Peter had in mind, what with his face almost in Neal’s crotch, but he needed to clear something up. Though he’d enjoyed a teenage refractory period through most of his twenties, Neal was now pushing forty, and there was no way he’d be ready for a second round so soon.

“Peter.”

“Hmm?” Peter was kissing his way up the inside of one thigh, his hands gripping Neal’s hips. His stubble tickled the sensitive skin there, and it was all Neal could do to not flinch away. At the same time, it was amazing. Not just the sensation, but the fact that Peter – _Peter Burke_ – was kneeling in front of him. It was dizzying, looking down at him, feeling the man’s warm breath on his skin, knowing he was so close to a part of Neal that…still wasn’t responding, though his heart and mind were eager.

“Peter, I…I can’t. Not yet.”

“Shh.” Peter shook his head and leaned back just far enough to gaze up at Neal, his heavily-lidded eyes taking their time moving up the other man’s body. “I can’t either. That’s not where I’m going.” He brushed his thumbs over Neal’s hips. “Neal, do you trust me?”

“Always.” The answer was immediate. 

“Then let me do this. Please. Just tell me if it’s too much.” He stared up at Neal, not moving, and it was already too much. Peter in such a submissive position, waiting for permission, letting Neal make the choice. Like he’d ever say no.

“Okay,” Neal whispered, and Peter smiled. He leaned back in and started mouthing a path up the inside of Neal’s other thigh, this time getting more involved. He licked at a particular spot, then sucked at it, and Neal gasped. He tried to hold still, but it was so good, so overwhelming, and his legs started to shake. Another spot, this time closer to the cleft of his groin, Peter’s tongue lapping at the skin, wresting a low moan out of Neal. The sensations were mind-blowing, heat and dampness and a head of thinning brown hair flecked with white, buried between his legs.

Without warning, Peter nipped at the skin, his teeth barely making contact, but it was way too much, and Neal cried out.

“ _Fuck_! Peter, stop.”

Peter backed away immediately, and Neal almost felt a chill from the sudden distance. He reached a shaky hand behind him, feeling for the edge of the bed, and sat down heavily, panting and a little dazed. Peter was sitting back on his haunches on the floor in front of him, corners of his mouth quirked up, swiping at his lower lip with his thumb.

Neal rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, then gave Peter a hard stare. “You. Who _are_ you? Where did that even come from?”

Peter pushed himself up slowly and flexed his legs, ignoring the question. “Want me to rinse those?” He gestured to Neal’s pants.

“Seriously?”

Picking up the silk pajama bottoms, Peter looked them over, then glanced at Neal. “Just water, or should I try to find something that’s safe to use on this?”

“Okay, you’ve been spending way too much time around the Amish.” Peter just raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer. “There’s a sample bottle of Woolite in my toiletry bag,” Neal finally admitted.

Peter let out a deep chuckle. “You sure you’re not gay?”

“Right. Says the FBI agent who just offered to _hand wash my silk_ to get rid of the incriminating bodily fluids.”

“ _Touché_.” Peter grinned and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Neal to wonder if he really was dreaming. “Hey, I was a bachelor until my thirties,” Peter called through the open door. “I’m not entirely without domestic skills.”

Smiling, Neal laid back across the bed and sighed. He wanted to sift through the evening’s events – maybe even revel in them a bit – but he was too drained to do so. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and let himself drift to the sound of running water and Peter’s occasional satisfied grunt.

“Hey, c’mon. Under the covers.”

“Hmm?” Neal stirred and squinted up at Peter.

“You fell asleep. Slide over. Drink some water before you go back to sleep.”

Neal pushed himself up and moved to one side of the bed. He realized with a twinge of modesty that he was still naked, while Peter was shirtless but had slipped into a clean pair of boxers. The other man must have read his expression; as he got into bed beside Neal, he gestured to the nightstand.

“I put a pair of your shorts there if you want them. Not that I mind if you…you know…if you’re comfortable that way.” The shy, sweet Peter from earlier was back. “Your pants will be fine once they dry. Mine, too.” He nodded to the chair, and Neal was startled to see both pairs of sleep pants laying there, spread out on a towel.

“God, how long was I out?”

“Not long. Doesn’t matter. We should get to sleep anyway.” Peter ran his fingers through Neal’s hair, then leaned in to give him a quick peck on the forehead, followed by a longer kiss on the lips. “Goodnight, Neal.”

Still a little groggy, Neal decided that sleep sounded like a great idea. He opened the water bottle and drained half of it, then put it back on the nightstand and slid down under the covers, not bothering with his boxer briefs. There were so many things he wanted to say to Peter, but at the moment, none of them really seemed to matter. Except one.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?” Peter turned out the light and pulled the covers up to their shoulders.

“I love you.”

Neal heard Peter’s sharp intake of breath, and it was a moment before the older man responded. “I love you, too, Neal.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I have for a long time.”

In spite of the weariness, Neal’s chest tightened, and he had to blink away the burn at the back of his eyes. He’d wanted this for so long, to be with Peter, to hear him finally say those words in that order. Now that the moment had arrived, it was almost staggering.

Unable to reply, he simply curled up under the covers, resting his head against Peter’s chest, letting the other man’s heartbeat lull him back to sleep.

\-------------

Peter spent much of the long next day apart from Neal, helping to plan the sting, which they hoped would happen within the next two days. The surveillance team following Gus Randazzo in New York said it looked like he was preparing for another trip, so the teams at the farm needed to be ready to jump into action at any time. They wanted to take down Bernheisel and Randazzo at the same time, and it seemed like they were going to get their chance.

They’d set up a temporary war room of sorts in the Gingerichs’ mud room and spent most of the day going through different scenarios, mapping out each person’s position, brainstorming possible ways that the op could go wrong – and solutions for each of those problems.

As one of the most senior agents involved in the operation, Peter was in charge of this particular aspect, leading the meeting and coordinating the infiltration plans, and even checking in with the barn lookout team and the agents trailing Randazzo in New York. He preferred being in a position of authority, and the agents with whom he was working were all quick to adjust to his leadership, so the day went smoothly. 

By the time they were finished, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and Peter was hungry and mentally worn out. All he wanted to do was find Neal, get something to eat, and crash at the hotel. Though they’d had a great lunch at the farm, and the Gingerich women were more than happy to feed them, most of the agents ate their evening meals in town so as not to take advantage. 

Peter found Brian coming down from upstairs. “So what do you think?”

Brian stifled a yawn and shook his head. “I think I’m heading back to the hotel to get some shuteye, my friend. I’m starving, but I think I’ll just hit the BK drive-thru or something. Too tired to go out or wait for delivery.”

“Yeah, I’m calling it a night, too. Have you seen Neal?”

Brian’s brow furrowed. “Huh. No, not in a while, come to think of it. He helped us analyze some surveillance photos and footage before lunch, but I haven’t seen him since we ate. Did you check the barn?”

“On my way there now.”

“Good deal. Plan on being here at the same time tomorrow, but bring a bag in case we have to spend the night. We think Randazzo will be here sometime between tomorrow evening and the following morning, depending on the route he takes.” A spark of excitement lit up his weary blue eyes. “This is going down. Can’t wait to put these guys away.”

“You and me both.” Peter clapped him on the shoulder. “Goodnight, Brian.”

“’Night, Peter. You two take care.” With a half-salute, Brian grabbed his briefcase and bag and slipped out the back door.

Peter made his way to the barn and climbed the ladder to the loft. Two members of the surveillance team were asleep on air mattresses, while three others were taking turns monitoring the farm through binoculars and cameras. Two of them glanced at Peter as he approached, while the one with the binoculars seemed to not notice.

“Have any of you seen Neal Caffrey?” Peter said in a near-whisper.

One of them shrugged, while the other smiled at him between glances at the monitor. “Is that the cute one with the great hair?”

Peter smirked. “That’s him.”

“Try downstairs. When I came back from the outhouse earlier, he was down at the other end of the barn, helping Levi and the older kids with something.”

After giving her a nod of thanks, Peter made his way back down. The opposite end of the barn was glowing with lantern light, and as he headed in that direction, he noticed that Neal was indeed there, along with Levi, Jonas, and Ruth Gingerich. While Levi was putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a pie safe, and Jonas was using a smoothing plane on a piece of wood, Ruth and Neal were bent over something on the workbench. The four of them were speaking softly, and Peter heard Levi’s nasal chuckle and a snort of laughter from Neal.

They were so absorbed in what they were doing that they didn’t notice him approaching in the shadows, and Peter hung back for a moment, just watching Neal comfortably interacting with the Amish teens and their father. He was finally able to see what Neal and Ruth were doing; they were painting intricate designs onto rectangular wood panels. Neal was clearly in his element, his hand moving in precise lines, still looking steady and upbeat in spite of the fact that he must have been nearly as tired as Peter.

Now that he was closer, Peter was also able to hear what they were saying, and it sounded like Neal was trying to add yet another language to his extensive repertoire.

“ _Welle fareb hot dei Aage?_ ” Ruth asked, her brush pausing as she glanced up at him. She spoke slowly and annunciated each word.

Neal, too, paused and grinned. “ _Mei Aage sin bloh._ ”

“ _Was gleichschst du? Gleichschst du Myusik heere?_ ” 

As Jonas looked up, seemingly curious to see whether or not Neal would be able to respond to the question, Neal pondered for a moment, and Peter felt his heart clench. Seeing Neal deep in thought, trying to figure something out, was one of his favorite things to witness.

“ _Ya, ich gleich Myusik, un Nei Yarrick Schteddel…un Wei. Ich gleich Wei arrig viel!_ ”

Ruth rolled her eyes, while Jonas and Levi chuckled. Peter didn’t speak Deitsch, but he did know German, and it was close enough that he was able to understand some of what was going on. Deciding that it was time to jump in, he stepped out of the shadows. Levi’s eyes darted to him, momentarily nervous before recognition dawned, and he smiled.

“Ah, _Guder Owed_ , Peter.” At Levi’s greeting, everyone turned to look at him, and Neal’s eyes lit up.

“ _Guder Owed_ ,” Peter replied as he approached.

“We’re teaching Neal how to speak Deitsch,” Ruth offered, greeting Peter with a shy smile.

“So I heard.” Peter returned the smile before his eyes settled on Neal. “ _Neal lernt gern neue Sprachen._ ”

Neal cocked his head at Peter, his brow furrowed, while the teens regarded him with wide eyes. Levi, however, was beaming at him.

“ _Du schwetzt Hochdeutsch! Arrig gut!_ ”

“I do, but I don’t know Deitsch.” He leaned in beside Neal, laying a hand on his shoulder, and was finally able to get a closer look at his work. He’d painted an arrangement of red, yellow, and orange leaves, adorned with acorns, with a gold star in the center. “This looks great.”

“Thanks, Peter.” Neal gave him a long look before turning back to add a few final strokes to the painting.

“He’s very talented,” Levi agreed. “We sell these to the tourists. Jonas and I do all kinds of woodworking, and Ruth and Naomi paint and make quilts. We sell a few around here, but most are sent to Lancaster County to be sold. Neal was a big help today, and he’s catching on fast with the Pennsilfaanisch Deitsch lessons.”

Neal finished what he was doing and put down the brush, finally looking back up at Peter. “I take it you’re ready to head back?”

“Yeah, we need to get some rest so we’ll be ready for tomorrow.” Peter looked to Levi. “Hopefully, we’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Levi nodded, looking him up and down before finally meeting his eyes. “We support what you’re doing. We don’t want this man in our town, as our neighbor. Pretending to be one of us. It was wrong of him to bring his evil to our community. Whatever we can do to help you, we will do.”

Peter gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Levi. We appreciate your hospitality. I know this can’t be easy.”

“What is best is not always what is easiest.” He offered a hand to Peter, who shook it, and they all exchanged goodbyes.

The trip to the woods was a quiet one, but when they got to the Jeep, Peter stopped Neal with a hand on his shoulder. “How tired are you?”

Neal squinted at him, trying to read his expression in the dusky twilight. “Want me to drive?”

“Please.” He slipped the keys into Neal’s hand and got into the passenger side, almost forgetting to close the door quietly. Neal started the Jeep and backed up until he got to a spot where he was able to turn around, then drove them out to the road. They rode in silence for a few miles, and Peter slumped back in the seat, yawning so hard that his jaw ached.

“You okay, Peter?” Neal laid a hand on his knee, and Peter wrapped his own around it.

“Just tired and really hungry. We should stop somewhere and get something.”

“It’s been taken care of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I took care of it. We’re going back to the hotel. Now relax and don’t worry about it.”

Peter knew there was a restaurant adjacent to the hotel, but it would be closed by the time they got back. “But –”

“Peter,” Neal cut him off. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, I do.” Peter was vaguely surprised by how quickly he’d answered that question in the affirmative. It had taken them so long to get to that point. Well, it had taken _Peter_ a long time; Neal had always trusted him.

Neal was quiet for a few moments, and Peter wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Peter’s trust had always meant a great deal to the younger man, and he was sure Neal had picked up on the lack of hesitation in Peter’s answer. His suspicions were confirmed when Neal finally spoke again.

“Then just sit back and rest.” Though it was now dark enough that Peter could barely see Neal’s face in the glow from the dashboard lights, his voice was rough from something other than weariness.

Peter dozed, not quite asleep, but not really aware. When they finally pulled into the hotel parking lot, Neal shut off the Jeep and then made a quick call on his cell phone, mumbling something that sounded like it might have been in a foreign language. Before Peter could figure it out, he hung up and gave Peter’s shoulder a shake.

“C’mon, handsome. Time to go have dinner…or supper, or whatever they call it here.”

 _Handsome_? The endearment made Peter blush furiously, and he was glad Neal couldn’t see it in the darkness. For as confident as he was, there were times when even Peter felt insecure. Though he’d always done fine on the dating front in his younger years, he’d never turned heads the way Neal did, and he’d been starting to see signs that his age was catching up to him in his fifties. Having someone who looked like Neal call him handsome did all sorts of wonderful things to his insides, and in spite of his fatigue, he actually got quite a thrill from that single word.

Back in the room, Neal gave him a quick kiss, then pulled him into a hug. Neal fingertips stroked over his back, and Peter surrendered, leaning into him and burying his tired eyes against the side of Neal’s neck. He inhaled deeply and was surprised to notice that Neal smelled – there was really no other word for it – _homey_. His usual musk was there, but it was joined by the scent of hay, and pine sawdust, and cinnamon from the apple dumplings they’d had for dessert. It was perfect, warm and comforting, and Peter wanted to live there forever.

When Neal finally started to pull away, Peter didn’t want to let go. “Can’t we just stay like this?”

“Mmm.” Neal’s hands slid down to rest loosely above the curve of Peter’s ass. “I’d like that, but we need to eat before you pass out.”

Reluctantly, Peter nodded and backed away. Neal did have a point; his blood sugar had dropped enough to where he was starting to get light-headed. He opened his mouth to ask about the food but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Go wash up if you need to,” Neal told him with a smile. “I’ll have everything ready to go when you get back.”

Peter gave another nod, then headed for the bathroom. When he returned a few minutes later, the table was covered with an assortment of Chinese takeout, as well as a bottle of beer for each of them.

“I would’ve cooked something for you, but –” Neal gestured to the kitchenette. “– we don’t have a stove, and I’m not very handy with microwave cuisine.” He took Peter’s hand and led him to the table. “Sit down. I got you moo shu pork. There’s some chicken rice soup and veggie egg rolls, too, if you need something a little lighter.” 

Peter sat and busied himself with the food in front of him, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Whether he realized it or not, Neal’s actions that day had made Peter exceptionally proud of him. Being part of the investigation, improving their standing with the Amish by helping with their woodcrafts and relating to them, driving them back to the hotel, arranging for food to be ready, even remembering Peter’s usual order. It was such a relief to know that he could depend on Neal if needed, and that the younger man would not only step up without hesitation, but would think ahead and take initiative.

“What? Everything okay?”

“Hmm?” Peter looked up into Neal’s concerned eyes. “Yeah, yeah. This is…perfect. Thank you.”

Neal visibly relaxed and gave Peter a fond smile before digging in to his orange chicken. They ate in silence for a while, both of them devouring the food in front of them. It didn’t take long at all for Peter to start feeling better, and he made a satisfied noise as he took a break from his pork to have an egg roll.

“This is so good. Thanks again for setting this up. I…hadn’t even thought about what we were going to do for dinner.” 

“You had more important things to do,” Neal replied with a shrug, but the smile was still there.

“No, this is important, too.” He reached over and squeezed Neal’s hand. “I appreciate it – really.”

Neal’s cheeks pinked, and he glanced down at his food before looking back up to meet Peter’s gaze once again. When he spoke, his voice was soft, unusually shy. “I like taking care of you. When you need me.”

“I always need you.” Peter smirked at him. “I’m just so damn stubborn that it took me years to let myself accept that.”

Neal blinked and ducked his head, then distracted himself with his beer. Peter sensed that he needed a change of subject – they probably both did – and he let out a soft chuckle.

“So, you’re adding Deitsch to your list of languages? I’m impressed.”

Neal took a deep breath and let it out slowly before finally looking at Peter and grinning. “I’m trying. That was great, though – learning some of the basics, getting a chance to paint, getting to know Levi, Jonas, and Ruth. Jonas isn’t gay, by the way. He’s just really smart, and I think he was fascinated by me.” He gave Peter a baffled look, and the older man laughed outright.

“You’re nothing if not fascinating. And if I’m not mistaken, I think the one with the crush on you is Ruth, not Jonas.”

“That one’s true.” Neal washed down a bite of rice with some more beer and gave him a sheepish shrug. “Before Levi came out to the barn, she asked if I wanted to go to a party with her and her friends on Saturday night. She just started her _rumspringa_ , but it doesn’t sound like she’s doing anything really crazy yet.”

Peter laughed again. “What in the world did you say?”

“I thanked her and told her we’d probably be gone by then, but that I hope she has fun.” Neal arched an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her I have a boyfriend.”

Eyes wide, Peter broke into a face-splitting grin. “Yeah. You do. Wow. I haven’t had – and haven’t been – a boyfriend in a very long time.”

“It suits you, though.”

“Yeah, I like it.” He gave Neal’s hand another squeeze. “And soon we’ll be able to go back to New York and really get to try it on for size.” Peter’s eyes came to rest on Neal’s, and he nearly got lost in the endless sea of blue. 

“How’s that going to work anyway?” Neal had finished his chicken and was picking at an egg roll. “I mean, you’re married. It’s not like you can go out and parade around with your wife and your boy on the side.”

Peter almost chuckled, but the hint of hurt in Neal’s voice – and the fact that he suddenly wouldn’t make eye contact – stopped him. “Well, I’m not going to hide you away like some dirty secret, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’ll have some things to work out, but it’s not like there aren’t other relationships out there like ours.”

“You mean there are other male FBI agents out there who are dating their male ex-con former CIs? Ones they caught and put in jail and –”

“Okay, maybe not exactly like ours, but that’s not what I meant, and that’s not what matters anyway. What matters is that I love you, and you love me, right?” When Neal gave a half-hearted nod, Peter sighed. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? Because I’m not. The past is the past, Neal. I mean, look at you now. You’re the director of security for a major security consulting firm. Do you know how proud that makes me? Don’t think for a second that I have any qualms about being in a relationship with you because of your past.”

Neal looked down and seemed to be struggling with his emotions. He pushed his chair away from the table and ran a hand through his hair.

“Neal? Hey…” Peter trailed off, not sure what to do. He wanted to go comfort the other man, but Neal’s posture gave him pause. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, his back held stiff, almost looking as if he was going to…run.

_No._

Peter started to get up, and Neal stood suddenly, turning to him with an odd smile that it took Peter a moment to place. It was the same one he’d seen on Neal’s face the day he’d introduced Peter to his boss. Convincing to most, but not to Peter.

“You know, I think I ate too much. I’m going to go get some air before I go into a food coma.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the door. 

Peter cocked his head at him, a deep furrow creasing his brow. “Okay, sure. Mind if I come along?”

Neal’s eyes widened just a fraction, but the fraudulent smile remained in place. “Actually, I’d feel better if you stayed here. You need to get some rest. I won’t go very far, and I won’t be gone long. Want me to put on a tracker or something?”

The comment sucker-punched Peter right in the gut, and he had to work to keep his voice steady, still reeling from the abrupt change in Neal’s demeanor. “No, of course not. I – I’ll see you when you get back.”

After giving him a grateful nod, Neal made a hasty exit, and Peter sat back heavily in his chair. He ran back through their conversation in his mind but couldn’t pinpoint anything that might have upset Neal. The whole “boy on the side” comment had thrown Peter for a loop, but he thought his response was reassuring, and he’d tried to make it clear that not only was he not ashamed of Neal, but that he was proud of him.

He wanted to go after Neal, wanted to comfort him and bring him back and make out with him and promise him that they’d figure things out – together. Neal had made it pretty clear, however, that he wanted to be alone, and Peter wasn’t his handler anymore. For the time being, he decided to respect the younger man’s privacy.

After a few antsy minutes in the chair, he got up and cleared the table, putting the leftovers in the small refrigerator and finishing his beer. He made a quick stop in the bathroom, then sat on the sofa and stared at the dark TV screen. Ten minutes turned into fifteen, then started to edge toward twenty, and Peter finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Neal wasn’t in the Jeep or on the benches out front, but as Peter headed back through the lobby, the front desk clerk called after him.

“If you’re looking for the gentleman you checked in with, he’s out back in the courtyard.” She pointed through a set of double doors, and Peter thanked her before slowly exiting through one of the doors.

In the light from the moon, Peter could make out a figure that was clearly Neal, sitting at a patio table at the far end of the courtyard, his back to the door. The right side of his face was illuminated by the glow of a cell phone, and Peter could hear him speaking softly. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but his feet carried him in that direction anyway, and he finally stopped a short distance away.

“Yeah, I know,” Neal said into the phone. “And he said he’s proud of me. I can’t even tell you how much that means to me…yeah…exactly. I just don’t know how to tell him. I’m afraid it’ll hurt him, and you know I can’t do that to Peter…right…and I didn’t know what to say. I still can’t lie to him.”

Peter froze in the shadows under the roof over the patio, rooted to the spot where he stood. A cold tendril of apprehension started to work its way into his full stomach, and though it was mild outside, a shiver ran through him. 

Neal listened to the person on the other end, then sighed. “Yeah, I know it’s best to tell him sooner rather than later…okay, I will. I’ll be back to see you soon.”

As the pieces started falling into place, Peter had to fight off a sudden surge of nausea. _Sara_. It had to be her. Neal was talking about hurting Peter, about lying to him, and then saying he’d be back soon.

He’d never really talked to Neal about what happened between him and Sara. The first couple of times he’d tried, Neal had simply said that Sara figured things out, and they decided to just remain friends. He’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to talk about it, and Peter had respectfully dropped the subject.

If there was any doubt that he was talking to her, it was wiped away with Neal’s next words. “I’ll tell him, I promise…okay. Thanks for, you know, listening and helping me figure things out. I love you, too. Bye.”

Peter’s gorge rose in his throat, and he had to breathe through the strong urge to be sick. He leaned heavily against the wooden post beside him, more light-headed now than he had been before eating. He was so wrapped up in his own panic that it took him a moment to notice the change in the younger man.

After ending the phone call, Neal put his phone away and leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face before resting his head in his hands. For a moment, he just sat there without moving, but then Peter thought he saw his shoulders flinch. It happened a second time, then a third, hard enough to be visible in the moonlight. 

Peter forgot about his own misery for the time being, his attention focusing on Neal instead. Deep in his heart, he knew what he was seeing, but his mind refused to register it until he heard the first muffled sniff.

Neal was crying.

The urge to comfort the younger man, to protect him, overrode everything else, and Peter was finally able to move. As he approached, he scuffed a shoe against the flagstones as a tactful hint. Neal heard it, and though he didn’t look back at Peter, he lifted his head and started wiping his cheeks with the side of his hand.

“Neal?”

“H-hey, Peter. I, um…” His voice faltered, and he turned his face away from Peter.

“Shh.” Peter bent to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and Neal shifted in the seat, putting his own arms around Peter and burying his face in the man’s chest. It was an awkward position, but in that moment, Peter didn’t care. Neal huffed a shaky breath into his shirt, then another, his whole body trembling.

Peter held him, supported him, rode the wave of emotion with him. When they came out the other side a few minutes later, it ended almost as quickly as it started. Neal’s tears just seemed to run out of steam, though he continued to cling to Peter as he caught his breath.

“Jesus, Neal,” Peter whispered when it finally seemed like it might be safe to ask. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Neal’s head rocked back and forth against Peter’s chest. “Not here.” 

“Okay.” Peter stroked Neal’s hair, trying to breathe evenly in the hope that the younger man’s breathing would fall into rhythm with his own. He was vaguely aware that there were several other agents staying at the hotel, and that any of them could walk out and see them at any time, but it didn’t really matter in that moment. 

Finally, after several minutes, Neal made a move to pull away. He’d gotten himself together enough to make the trip through the lobby and up to the room. Neal bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs, holding tightly to Peter’s hand as they trudged up in silence.

When they were safely back inside the room, Neal led Peter to the sofa, where he dropped down heavily and ran a hand all the way through his hair to the nape of his neck. Though part of him wanted to pace, Peter forced himself to sit down far enough away that he could face Neal.

Neal didn’t seem to be in any hurry to explain what was going on, and the worry was starting to gnaw at Peter’s gut again. When he finally couldn’t take the silence anymore, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“So…how’s Sara?”

Neal’s head snapped up, and as his red-rimmed eyes fixed on Peter’s, several emotions seemed to flash through them in rapid succession. He finally stopped on an unnerving mix of hurt and anger.

“Wait, you were eavesdropping?” His voice was raw and tinged with disbelief, and it hit Peter like a baseball bat – Neal hadn’t realized he’d heard any of the phone call.

“I – no, I wasn’t. I was just –” 

“Listening to my conversation,” Neal interrupted, his voice hardening. “How much did you hear?”

“Not much,” Peter admitted. “Just from when you talked about me being proud of you.”

“I don’t fucking believe it.” Neal shook his head, eyes wide. “I thought you said earlier that you trusted me.”

“I do trust you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it. I can’t even take a walk and have a private phone conversation without you checking up on me – and jumping to conclusions about what you heard.” He shook his head, and Peter noticed a flush rising in his cheeks. “You’re not my handler anymore, Peter. You don’t have that right.”

The statement hit Peter hard, and he had to fight to keep from visibly flinching. “I – I know that. Neal, will you listen to me? I swear to you, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I came to find you because I was concerned, okay? We were having a great conversation, and then something happened, and you looked like you were panicking. I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy.” He let out a frustrated sigh, and added as a half-hearted afterthought, “Hell, I waited almost twenty minutes.”

He expected – hoped – that Neal would chuckle at the comment, breaking the tension and lightening the mood. Instead, the younger man shook his head.

“Twenty minutes. Is that supposed to be reassuring? Thank you for that twenty minutes of privacy, Peter, really.”

“I was _worried_ about you, goddammit.” Now Peter, too, was getting angry, though he tried to rein in his temper in hopes that things wouldn’t escalate. “You seemed upset, and when you didn’t come back, I thought maybe you needed help. That’s all it was. I just wanted to be there for you.”

He held out his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes locked with Neal’s, pleading with him to understand. To trust him.

Neal stared back at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “And I got help,” he finally said, his voice still soft but without the edge of outrage it had carried before. “Look, I appreciate that you wanted to be there, but I can’t go to you for help when you’re part of the problem.”

Peter did a double-take, and this time, he couldn’t resist the urge to stand. “I’m part of the problem? I don’t even know what the problem _is_ , Neal. Jesus fucking _Christ_.” He paced in front of the sofa, hands on his hips, glaring at the younger man. When Neal glanced away and shook his head, Peter stopped in front of him. Jealousy stuck in his chest like a poison dart, coursing through his veins, making him tremble. “So your first thought was to call Sara and tell her you love her?” 

Neal’s head shot up, blue eyes fixing him with an affronted glare. “I wasn’t talking to Sara, you bastard. I was talking to _June_.”

Peter’s stomach dropped to his knees, and he suddenly felt sick again. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Neal continued to watch him, and Peter felt himself wilting under that stare, his jealousy turning to shame.

“Oh, Neal,” he finally managed, sitting down heavily. As his brain ran back through the parts of the conversation he’d heard, the pieces fell into place, and he felt like a colossal ass. “Oh.” He buried his head in hands, rubbing at his forehead with his fingertips. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” There was a hint of bitterness in Neal’s voice, but thankfully, the anger had dissipated. “I…there are things I struggle with every day, Peter. June is one of the few people who could ever understand those things. She was in the life, and then got out and stayed out. That’s – that’s what I want for myself.”

Peter looked up at him, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “But you have that.”

“I do, but it’s not always easy. When you took off the anklet, it wasn’t just like a switch was flipped or something. I mean, it’s not like I really get the urge to commit crimes anymore – I don’t.” His eyes widened in wonderment. “Wow, never thought I’d hear myself admit that.” The corners of his mouth twitched up just slightly before drooping again. “But sometimes…I don’t know.” Frustrated, he rubbed at the palm of his left hand with his right thumb. “It’s hard to not want to try to find an easier way. A way that hurts less, I guess. Whenever I start feeling like that, I talk to June.”

Peter nodded slowly, then dropped his head back into his hands, still trying to figure out exactly when the evening had gone from sweet and wonderful to so spectacularly fucked up. He wanted to go back in time and fix it before it happened. He wanted to go get a beer. He wanted Elizabeth there to translate Neal’s feelings into Peter-speak.

“Peter?”

“May –” It came out in a raspy half-whisper, and Peter cleared his throat before trying again. “May I ask why I’m the problem?”

Silence stretched between them like a vast sea, deep and dangerous and polluted with unpleasant things that Peter didn’t want to ponder. It made his chest ache, and the pain radiated all the way down his arms. Had he not known what was causing it, and that it was emotional, he might have thought he was having a heart attack. 

“Will you look at me?”

Peter lifted his head slowly and ran a hand over his face. When his eyes finally made it up to Neal’s face, he was floored by what he saw there. Neal actually looked…insecure.

In all the years they’d known each other, Neal had always been the picture of cocky self-assurance. Even when he was at his lowest, he always had that spark in his eyes and a trick up his sleeve. Now, however, all of that was stripped away, and he was watching Peter with a raw uncertainty that drove straight to the older man’s heart.

Peter wanted to hold him and comfort him and kiss the fire back into him. Instead, he cocked his head and gave Neal a look that he hoped was encouraging.

Neal took a deep breath and ran his palms over his thighs. “Peter, there’s something I need to tell you, and I just…” He trailed off, but the look in his eyes tugged at Peter’s heartstrings and said what Neal couldn’t. _Please don’t be disappointed in me_.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“It, uh, meant a lot to me when you said you were proud of me for what I’m doing at Pierpoint, and I know it’s a great job, and the salary is, well, more than I expected to be making, considering my past.” He swallowed audibly, and Peter could see a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. “But I hate it. Now I know what you’re thinking – a lot of people hate their jobs, and it’s a cushy desk job, and I should just cowboy up and deal with it. And I’m trying, but it feels like it’s _killing_ me. Every day.”

It was obvious that Neal was struggling, his fingers digging into his thighs. Peter reached over, took one of Neal’s hands in his own, and gave it a squeeze. Though his eyes were clear for the time being, there was a tremor in Neal’s voice when he continued.

“You know, when you removed the tracker for the last time, it was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever felt in my life. I was free, and I didn’t want to go back to the life. I – I wanted to make you proud.” He faltered on the last word and cleared his throat.

“But it was still just one con after another. I conned myself into thinking I loved Sara more than I loved you, and that you couldn’t possibly have the same kind of feelings for me that I had for you. Then after Sara figured it out, and I came back to New York, I tried to con myself – and everyone else – into thinking that I was happy sitting behind a desk in a big office with my name on the door.” Neal sighed and curled his fingers around Peter’s.

“We’ll be going home soon, and I’ll have to go back to being that man again. And then you say you’re proud of me for being that man, and I need that, Peter. I need that like I need the air I breathe. You don’t look at me like I’m a criminal anymore. You look at me like you…like you _love me_.” The words came out in an incredulous whisper, almost like he couldn’t quite believe they were true. 

“I want to be that man you see, but I’m just…not. I – I still can’t lie to you, Peter. What you’re seeing when you look at Pierpoint’s director of security is just another con.” Neal looked down at their hands and let out a long, shaky breath. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter sat there for a moment, his mind working through everything he’d just heard. He watched Neal trying to maintain his composure, his chest rising and falling rapidly, jaw clenched. Even in that moment, Neal looked devastatingly beautiful. And in that moment, Peter was probably more proud of him than he’d ever been.

“Neal.”

“Hmm?” Neal’s eyes never left their hands.

Watching him closely, Peter took a deep breath. “Are you proud of me?”

Neal’s head shot up, deep lines bracketing the bridge of his nose. “I – yeah, of course I am.”

“But only because I’m an FBI agent. I mean, if I was an accountant or a construction worker, that would be an embarrassment, right?”

It was obvious where he was going, and Neal was a quick study. He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Okay, I get it. And no, it wouldn’t be an embarrassment.”

“Why not?”

Neal gave a sheepish shake of his head but kept playing along. “Because I’m proud of the person you are, and you’d still be that same person no matter what job you had.” He lifted their hands to his mouth and brushed his lips over Peter’s knuckles. “You’re intelligent, and honorable, and brave. Altruistic. Romantic. You love a good puzzle – and a bad pun. And you are insanely sexy.”

Peter did a double take and tried to keep himself from getting distracted by the way Neal’s lips formed that last word – and the fact that he’d used it to describe Peter. He mentally shook himself and squared his shoulders; there were some things he still needed to say, and he wasn’t going to let himself get sidetracked. Much.

“Neal, listen to me for a minute. I know you got the point, but you need to hear this anyway.” He pulled their hands over to rest on his own knee and wrapped his free hand around both. “I’m proud of you because of the person you are – the person you’ve become – and because of how far you’ve come in the time I’ve known you. You’ve been free for two-and-a-half years, and in that time, you haven’t even gotten so much as a parking ticket.”

Neal opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Peter cut him off. “No, I didn’t check. And no redirecting. Look, I need you to understand that the only way you could possibly disappoint me with a career choice is if you went back to the things you were doing before – and I have enough faith in you to believe that you won’t do that. I want you to do what makes you happy. I’ll support you in whatever that is, whether you’re a director of security or a struggling artist or a barista at the coffee shop or the guy who collects our trash.

“If you need to leave Pierpoint, then by all means, do it. If you want my help with finding something else, I’ll help. I’ll write recommendations or be a reference, anything you need. But whatever you choose to do, I won’t be disappointed.”

By the time Peter was finished, Neal’s blue eyes were swimming, his throat working. He pulled his hand loose from Peter’s and reached for him, sliding closer and wrapping his arms around the older man. Peter did the same, holding him tightly and smiling. He could feel the peace slowly settling into Neal’s body, felt the way Neal sagged against him and sighed.

“Peter.” It wasn’t much more than a whisper, hot against his neck, but it was strong.

“Mmm.” 

“Thank you.” Neal pulled away far enough to look into Peter’s eyes. “I love you.”

Peter gave him a shy smile, one that he usually only used around Elizabeth. “Love you, too.”

The smile Neal gave him in return was similar to his own, genuine and sweet. “I know I keep saying it. It’s almost like I can’t say it enough.” He slipped out of Peter’s arms and laid down on his back, his head in Peter’s lap, feet propped on the arm at the other end of the sofa.

“I don’t mind hearing it,” Peter admitted. He pushed his fingers into Neal’s hair and sighed. They fell into silence for several minutes, and though Neal’s eyes drifted shut, Peter knew he hadn’t fallen asleep. Now that they were back on good terms, he decided to broach what he figured would be a touchy subject. “Can I ask about Sara?”

“Hmm? What about her?” Neal’s eyes remained closed, but the blissful expression on his face didn’t change, and his body didn’t tense at the mention of his former girlfriend.

“What happened? Why didn’t she want to marry you?”

“I never proposed.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Well, not for real. There was that time at the Empire State Building…”

“Really? I thought you proposed and she turned you down.”

“You _assumed_ ,” Neal answered, finally opening his eyes. “I just never corrected you. I didn’t really want to get into it at the time.”

“Which is why I let it go then.” Peter looked down at him. “You said earlier that Sara figured it out. What did you mean by that?”

Neal gave him a reserved smile. “She found my sketchbook.” He held up a finger, then carefully extricated his hair from Peter’s hand before going to his briefcase and retrieving something from the pocket on the back. When he returned, he handed it to Peter, then sat down beside him. “I don’t think there was really any question after this.”

Though he wanted to see what was inside, Peter tentatively ran his fingers over the well-worn brown leather cover. Neal had never shared the contents of any of his sketchbooks with Peter before, and now that it was happening, Peter felt a deep reverence toward the book in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he worked the closure strap loose, opened the cover – 

– and was faced with a drawing of himself. 

It didn’t take him long to place the moment. He looked younger, his hair was a bit longer, and he was wearing one of the ill-fitting suits he’d loved before he started spending so much time around Neal. One of Neal’s forged Atlantic Incorporated bonds was in his hands. It was the first time Neal had ever seen him.

Peter flipped through the pages, stunned to find that each one featured a sketch of him. Some of them were moments that had actually happened, others appeared to be from Neal’s fantasies, and all of them depicted him in a way that was intimate – and left no doubt that the artist was deeply in love with him.

Standing on the pitcher’s mound at Yankee Stadium with a look of pure joy on his face. Dozing in a t-shirt and jeans in a bed he didn’t recognize. Barefoot and shirtless on a beach, walking in the surf. A study of his broad back, his leather holster stretched across his shoulders. Smiling at Neal on the tarmac of the airport in Cape Verde. Detailed close-ups of his face or his hand on his hip. Standing at the terrace doors, rumpled and drinking a beer. Page after page, intricate and beautiful. 

“Jesus, Neal,” he breathed, barely hearing his own voice over the blood rushing in his ears. When he finally risked a glance at Neal, the younger man was regarding him with a bittersweet half-smile.

“Yeah.” 

“What happened? Was she upset?” Peter didn’t want to push, especially after the evening they’d already had, but he couldn’t help being genuinely curious. 

“Actually, no.” When Peter’s eyebrows shot up, Neal just tilted his head and shrugged a shoulder. “She was relieved, mostly. It cleared up a lot of things for her.”

Peter turned another page and glanced down, his eyes taking in a sketch of him standing in Neal’s room at June’s, wearing a sleeveless shirt, shorts, and boxing gloves. His hair was mussed, his biceps larger than he remembered them ever being, and he looked much more handsome than the flawed man he saw when he looked in the mirror each morning.

“That’s one of my favorites,” Neal said right next to his face, startling him. He’d been so fascinated by the sketch that he hadn’t noticed the younger man leaning into his personal space. Neal’s lips brushed over his cheek just in front of his ear.

“This –” Peter’s voice barely cooperated, and he cleared his throat, his eyes coming up to meet Neal’s. “This is how you see me?” 

“That’s how you look.” When Peter started to shake his head, Neal cut him off with a wave of his hand. “That’s how you look _to me_ , Peter.” 

“But, Sara…I mean, I thought that…” He trailed off, not even sure what he was trying to say.

Thankfully, Neal seemed to understand all too well. “I love Sara, Peter, but not the way I love you.” He nodded down at the sketchbook. “Not _that_ way. Sara and I were always good together, especially when it came to sex –” Peter rolled his eyes, and Neal leaned in and kissed the smirk off of his lover’s lips. “ – but I wasn’t ever truly in love with her. I thought I could make it work because I didn’t think I’d ever be able to have the person I really loved.” He brushed a thumb across Peter’s cheek. “And she’s always had issues with thinking I’d run away like her sister did. It wasn’t fair to either of us to keep trying to make it work. So we decided it was best to just quit while we were ahead and keep the friendship intact.”

Peter nodded, feeling somewhat numb. “How, uh, did she find this?”

Neal dropped his hand and actually blushed, if only barely. “I accidentally left it out, and she, um, yeah.”

“Neal.” Peter nudged him with his shoulder, and Neal ducked his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “What aren’t you telling me?”

By now, Neal’s cheeks had turned a deep red, and he shifted, rubbing his palms on the legs of his jeans. “I was, you know…getting off to it, and I fell asleep afterward. She came home and found it. On the bed.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to blush. “I don’t know what’s more awkward – that you get off to your own artwork, that I’m the subject of said artwork, or that Sara knows both of these things.” He had a brief twinge of concern that the comment might offend Neal, but the younger man’s mouth twitched up into a barely-there smile. “Do you mind if I ask?” He gestured at the book, and Neal broke into a mischievous grin.

“This was one of them,” Neal said of the boxing sketch, reaching over to pull the book partway onto his lap so it was laying between them. He flipped through in what seemed like a well-practiced move and stopped at another page. “And definitely this one.”

The sketch was of Peter from the waist up, shirtless and with his head turned to the side. His bulging pecs and biceps stood out, as did the lines of his neck and jaw. There was a hint of a smile on his face, and there were drops of what looked like water clinging to his body and the ends of his hair.

Neal flipped to another page, again seeming to find it easily. “And most of the ones from here back.”

The first sketch showed something that had definitely never happened, but it was so captivating that Peter nearly forgot to breathe. In the drawing, he and Neal were standing in front of the fireplace in the Burkes’ living room, slow dancing with each other. They were pressed against each other, and Peter was leading, his left hand holding Neal’s right one, his right hand in the small of Neal’s back. Neal’s eyes were closed and there was a look of pure bliss on his face.

His fingers trembling, Peter started slowly flipping the pages, warmth spreading through his body as he took in each sketch. The two of them lounging on Peter’s sofa, hands clasped together, smiles on their faces. Standing on the terrace at June’s, Peter’s arms wrapped around Neal from behind as they looked out over the city. Side-by-side at the counter in Peter’s kitchen, preparing a meal. 

A close-up study of their mouths and jaws as they kissed, Neal’s fingers resting near Peter’s chin. Peter with his head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth wide open, as Neal sucked at the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Both of them naked from the waist up, Peter’s hips pressing Neal up against a wall, holding Neal’s hands above his head as their lips devoured each other. Laying naked together in Neal’s bed, the sheets pulled up to their waists, curled up in each other’s arms.

“Oh god, Neal. These are…” Peter wasn’t even sure when he’d started breathing again, but he was panting, and he hadn’t even reached the end of the book.

“Yeah.” Neal gently pulled the book from between them and closed it, putting it on the coffee table in front of them. He took Peter’s face in his hands and kissed him, long and deep, more of a comfort than a prelude. When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, running a thumb over Peter’s lower lip. “Sara was the one who told me to come back and try to work things out with you. She thought you might feel the same way.”

As this new piece of information sank in, Peter couldn’t help chuckling, and Neal gave him a puzzled look. “El kept telling me the same thing. She swore you had feelings for me, said she could tell by the way you looked at me when you didn’t know she was watching.”

“Ah.” Neal gave Peter another quick kiss before getting up to put the sketchbook back in his briefcase. “So both of them knew, and we still couldn’t figure it out for ourselves.” He reached out a hand to Peter and pulled him up into his arms.

“Mmm.” Peter dropped his head to Neal’s shoulder and let out a long sigh, and it finally hit him once again how exhausted he was. “We were in denial, I think.”

“Oh, we were.” Neal ran a hand up and down Peter’s back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shirt, and Peter was struck by the role reversal, by Neal comforting him. “And that’s a long, long river.”

Peter couldn’t find the words to reply, lost in the warmth of Neal’s body against his. It wasn’t lust he felt in that moment, but love, raw and bone-deep. Instead of his own arms forming a protective cocoon around Neal – or El – it was Peter who was wrapped in the shelter of someone else’s arms. He felt safe and cherished, and he didn’t want to move, even when Neal started to pull away.

“Come on,” the younger man whispered. “You’re falling asleep on your feet.” He led Peter to the bedroom, helped him through his routine, and got him under the covers. This time when they fell asleep, Neal was spooning Peter from behind, and it felt like the most perfect thing in the world.

\-------------

As an ex-criminal, Neal had become rather closely acquainted with Murphy’s Law over the years. Matthew Keller had once told him that Murphy’s Law of Con Men stated that, “anything that can go wrong will go wrong…when your wang’s hanging, Caffrey.” Though crude, the Keller Corollary had been proven more than once, most memorably on a ledge outside the window of a castle in Hampshire, years before Neal went to work for the FBI.

Though he was no longer committing crimes, it shouldn’t have surprised Neal that the Keller Corollary would sneak up on him when he least expected it, behind a silo on an Amish farm in Shale Hill, Pennsylvania.

After finding the outhouse occupied the three separate times he’d checked, he’d finally given in to the increasingly urgent demands of his bladder and resorted to using the space between the silo and the barn, well out of sight of Bernheisel’s farm.

Neal was just shaking off and tucking himself away when he heard the first muffled pop, followed by two more in quick succession. He froze, one hand hovering over his still-unzipped fly, and strained to listen.

“ _Shots fired!_ ”

The disembodied voice in his ear startled him, and he quickly zipped up and flattened himself against the barn. A moan of pain came through the receiver, followed by a voice so breathless he couldn’t recognize it, though he instinctively knew that it wasn’t Peter or Brian.

“ _Suspect number two…in custody. I’ve been hit._ ” Another groan came through the receiver, drowning out the pounding of Neal’s own pulse in his ears. “ _We need…EMS out here, times two. In the woods._ ”

“ _Suspect one is approaching the command center, and he’s got a hostage. I repeat, suspect one is approaching with a hostage. Hold your fire._ ” A different voice this time, steady but tinged with barely-controlled alarm.

Chaos seemed to erupt inside Neal’s head, the voices of various agents transmitting one right after the other, calling for paramedics to be staged nearby until the scene was secure, trying to verify the exact whereabouts of Jeffrey Bernheisel, questioning the identity of the hostage, and coordinating the teams of agents.

Finally, Brian’s voice broke through, taking control and barking instructions. Neal continued to listen, still pressed against the barn next to the silo, unsure of whether or not he should go back to the house. He didn’t know if the agents even realized he was there yet, and if he made any sudden moves – 

“Brian Marcoux!”

The booming voice came from the end of the barn closest to where Neal stood, and he started, his heart trip-hammering in his chest. Though he’d only heard the man’s voice a few times in his life, he knew instantly that it was Bernheisel – and he was way too close.

“Come on out, Marcoux!” Bernheisel shouted, sounding like he was now just around the corner from where Neal stood. “You think I don’t know who you are? I know you’re in there. Got me a prize, you motherfuckers. Ain’t she a pretty one?” There was a muffled cry, a voice that Neal couldn’t quite place, but it spurred him into action and he pressed his back up against the silo, skirting around it until he was on the opposite side. He wedged himself between the silo and the outshed that jutted from the barn next to it, quickly checking his surroundings to make sure there was nothing nearby that would make noise if he bumped into it.

“ _Wait, is that Caffrey by the silo?_ ” At the sound of his name in his ear, Neal’s head shot up, eyes focusing on the house. He could see several faces appearing in the windows, their eyes darting from him to his left and back again.

“ _Neal._ ”

Peter.

Neal scanned the windows and quickly found Peter’s face, almost directly across from where he stood.

“ _Neal, don’t move. Stay where you are and listen to me._ ”

Neal gave him a small nod, trying to control his breathing and considering his options. There was a scuffling sound from the corner of the barn on the other side of the silo, and Bernheisel’s shout was clear enough now that Neal knew he’d rounded the corner.

“I see you in there, Marcoux. How you like my new girlfriend?” Again, there was a frightened squeal, and this time it was clear enough for Neal to recognize.

 _Ruth._ Neal squeezed his eyes shut and forced down the surge of panic that blossomed in his chest. 

“I’m coming out the side door, Bernheisel,” Brian’s voice rang out, and Neal wished he could see him from where he stood.

“ _Neal, he’s coming toward you,_ ” Peter said, his steady voice bringing Neal back to himself. “ _He’s holding Ruth Gingerich at gunpoint. Just stay still. He doesn’t know you’re there. Brian’s on his way out._ ”

“Why don’t you let the girl go, and we can talk?”

“I don’t wanna talk to you. You got me fucking trapped.” Bernheisel’s voice was too close now – right on the other side of the silo, from the sound of it. “Amish Barbie here is my ticket out.”

“ _He’s next to the silo, Neal. Looks like he’s stopping there for now._ ” Neal’s eyes went back to Peter’s, and he gave another quick nod. He knew exactly what was going on; Bernheisel wanted the coverage that the barn and silo would offer, guaranteeing that no one would be able to sneak up behind him.

“Stay where you are!” Bernheisel suddenly bellowed, and Ruth cried out.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay. Easy, man. I’m staying right here, see?” It sounded like Brian was a little closer, likely now at the bottom of the steps. Neal still longed to see what was going on, and he had to fight hard against the urge to lean forward just far enough to peek around the silo.

“I’m running the show here, you stupid sonofabitch. Get rid of the guns – both of ‘em. I know you got a backup.” There was a pause, and Neal could hear the heavy breathing of the man on the other side of the silo. “Toss ‘em over there.” There was a muted thud, and Neal could have sworn he heard Bernheisel chuckle.

“Okay, Bernheisel, what next?”

“You’re gonna let me get outta here. And I’m gonna take the bitch with me.”

“Look, she didn’t do anything to you. We need to talk about – ”

“I said I don’t want to fucking _talk_ to you!” Bernheisel screamed, so close now that Neal jumped. He cringed back against the barn, barely daring to breathe.

“ _Careful, Brian._ ” Peter still sounded impossibly calm, but his next words chilled Neal to the bone. “ _He’s got his finger on the trigger now. Easy…just take it easy._ ”

As nerve-wracking as it was to be standing where he stood, Neal felt something else welling up inside of him – anger. Ruth Gingerich was only sixteen. She was still young, with the innocence of being Amish and just a hint of cleverness at the corners of her shy smile.

And she didn’t ask for any of this. She didn’t choose to have a hardened criminal set up shop in the farm next door, and she didn’t have a say in the decision to let the FBI take over her home. She didn’t volunteer to be held at gunpoint – or to have to deal with the mental and emotional trauma that was sure to follow.

Neal’s jaw clenched, and he shook his hands to keep them from reflexively curling into fists. He needed to think, to come up with a quick plan. This was something he could do, something he was good at. He pushed the anger aside for the time being, letting it simmer just far enough away that it wouldn’t be a distraction. 

“What do you need, JB? What can I do to get you to let her go?”

Bernheisel let out an indignant laugh. “Oh, it’s JB now, is it? You think you’re my fucking _friend_? We’re buddies now… _Brian_? You know what I need, _Brian_. A car and a head start, _Brian_. You know you’ll never find me, you stupid prick.”

As the two continued to spar, Neal took a deep breath and flattened himself against the side of the silo, then edged his way forward. He only went a short distance before inching his head forward until he could finally see Bernheisel. The man was standing at the front of the silo on the other side, his back to Neal. He was holding Ruth Gingerich in front of him, one arm wrapped around her neck, other hand pressing a semi-automatic pistol into her temple. 

Though he tried to keep his head clear, Neal’s anger ramped up another notch. The coward was using Ruth as a human shield. Neal watched them closely for a moment, cataloging Bernheisel’s movements, waiting to see if he ever moved the gun or loosened his grip on Ruth. He needed to find an opening of some sort or a way he could distract Bernheisel long enough to free Ruth from his hold.

“ _Neal, what are you doing?_ ” Peter’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Neal barely managed to stifle the instinctive flinch. He’d been concentrating so hard on the scene in front of him that he’d shut out everything else around him. “ _Get back against the barn. Stay still._ ” 

Neal nodded but didn’t look over at Peter. Instead, he continued to watch, waiting for the opening he needed and steeling himself for what was about to happen. He edged forward until he was almost close enough to reach out and touch Jeffrey Bernheisel. The forger was shaking with barely-controlled rage, and he reeked of body odor and acetone. In front of him, Ruth was trembling and trying to stay quiet, but she let out a little cry every time Bernheisel moved. 

Though Brian Marcoux never looked directly at him, not wanting to tip off Bernheisel, Neal could tell exactly when the agent saw him – and figured out what he was trying to do. After that, Neal didn’t have to wait long for Brian to get him his opportunity.

“Even if we let you go, you won’t get very far,” Brian said, a hint of derision in his voice. “I mean, really, look at you. You’re trapped, you’re using a sixteen-year-old girl as a shield, and you’re begging an FBI agent to give you a way out. Do you – ” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Bernheisel screamed, pulling the gun away from Ruth’s temple and pointing it at Brian. “I’ll shoot you and h– ”

Neal lunged forward, grabbing Bernheisel’s right arm and yanking it up in the air. His left arm went around Bernheisel’s neck, much in the same way the other man was holding Ruth, and he squeezed as tightly as he could, hauling the other man back toward him.

Startled and off-balance, Bernheisel let go of Ruth. Neal thought he heard Brian yelling for her to run, but the gun went off, and his ears started ringing. The two men struggled, and Neal somehow managed to smack Bernheisel’s hand against the silo hard enough to dislodge the gun. 

Bernheisel kicked and thrashed his way out of Neal’s grip and whirled on him, swinging blindly. He landed a glancing blow to Neal’s nose, but Neal swung back, his fist connecting solidly with Bernheisel’s jaw. The forger’s head snapped around, and he crumpled to the ground, leaving Neal staring into the eyes of a shocked Brian Marcoux. 

“Jesus Christ, Caffrey,” Brian breathed, holstering the sidearm he’d retrieved and reaching for his cuffs. As the agent knelt down and rolled the unconscious criminal onto his stomach, cuffing his hands behind him, Neal bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Neal!” It took a moment for Neal to realize that Peter’s voice was no longer coming from the earpiece, but from right behind him. A familiar hand landed on his shoulder. “Are you hurt? Neal?”

Neal straightened up slowly and opened his mouth, fully intending to answer, but nothing came out. The ringing in his ears was starting to fade, and he was vaguely aware that his nose was bleeding. He glanced around the yard, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was hoping to see. Thankfully, Peter seemed to understand.

“Ruth’s in the house. She’s safe.” 

Neal stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed and gasping, before finally nodding. He looked down at Brian, then around at the other agents who’d converged on the scene. Something bumped into his hand, and he flinched away.

“Hey, easy.” Peter held up a handkerchief in front of him. “Here. Your nose is bleeding.”

Neal gave him another nod and took the handkerchief, wiping at the blood that was now dripping down over his lips and chin. When he was done, he peered down at it and couldn’t decide if he should be embarrassed that the white cotton was now largely stained with red. In some detached part of his mind, he noticed that his hands hurt, but his thoughts were too jumbled to figure out exactly why.

“Neal, look at me.” Neal slowly brought his gaze up to meet Peter’s. The older man watched him closely for a moment, eyes searching Neal’s face. “That’s what I thought. Okay. Stay here. I need to talk to Brian for a minute.”

When Neal didn’t reply, Peter just clapped him on the shoulder and then stepped over to where Brian was helping another agent hog-tie Bernheisel, who’d begun to stir. Peter bent over and spoke softly to Brian, his hand resting on his friend’s shoulder. Brian looked up at Neal, held his gaze for a few brief seconds, then nodded and murmured something that Neal didn’t catch.

Peter returned to Neal’s side and gave him a small, tight smile. “Come on, we’re going inside.”

Neal let Peter lead him into the house, then watched and waited while the other man grabbed a couple of water bottles from a cooler the agents had been keeping in the kitchen. He rummaged in a duffel bag beside the cooler and pulled out a small red pouch, then got some paper towels from a roll on the counter.

“Upstairs,” he said, handing one of the water bottles to Neal. They made their way into the living room, and Peter paused to whisper something to Naomi, who was standing with the three younger Gingerich children, a disheartened look on her face. Levi, Ruth, and Jonas were nowhere to be seen. Naomi nodded, and Peter led Neal up the stairs without another word, taking him into Levi and Naomi’s bedroom and shutting the door.

“Neal, I need to know if you’re hurt.” Peter slipped off his holster and vest, then removed the tiny receiver from his ear and gestured for Neal to do the same. He put both receivers in his pocket, then poured some water from his own bottle onto one of the paper towels.

Neal was starting to come back to himself, his head already clearing, and he did a mental inventory of his body. “No,” he finally answered, surprised by the meek tone of his own voice. “Hands and nose hurt a little, but nothing major.”

“Good, good.” Peter wiped at the remnants of the blood on Neal’s face with the paper towel. Though he was being gentle, he seemed distant, maybe even a little upset. When he was done, he checked Neal’s hands, and Neal was able to get a good look at them for the first time. The knuckles on his right hand, which hit the side of the silo when he was trying to knock the gun from Bernheisel’s hand, were covered in scrapes that were already scabbing over. His left knuckles were bruised and slightly swollen from making contact with Bernheisel’s jaw.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Peter said, sounding oddly impersonal. “We’ll get a cold pack on your left hand in a minute. First, I want you to drink some of this.” He tapped the bottle in Neal’s hand, and Neal nodded. Opening the bottle was an adventure in pain, but Peter didn’t move to help him, seemingly wanting to see if Neal’s hands were worse off than he was letting on. 

After downing nearly half the bottle, Neal put the cap on and put it on the dresser behind him. When he turned back, Peter was staring at the window, his hands on his hips. It was a posture Neal knew well, and he definitely didn’t need the dressing-down that always came after.

“Peter.” When Peter looked over at him, his expression unreadable, Neal shook his head. “Can we save the lecture for later? Not right now. Please.” A spark of compassion flickered in Peter’s eyes, and Neal took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, shaky sigh. “I just need…” He trailed off and glanced away, his shoulders slumping.

He didn’t really know how to tell Peter exactly what he needed. He didn’t want to be coddled or even necessarily comforted. He just needed Peter’s anchoring presence to prove that he’d made it through a tense and terrifying situation, to steady him as he worked his way through the post-adrenaline shakes that were threatening. 

Mercifully, Peter seemed to understand. His expression softened, and he pulled Neal into his arms. Neal sank into his lover, his legs starting to tremble as he wrapped his own arms around Peter’s lower back. Peter’s body was warm and solid against Neal’s, his thumb tracing firm circles between Neal’s shoulder blades, rubbing the tension away. 

They stayed that way for countless minutes, Neal pulling himself together with the strength Peter offered him. When the shakes made their way up through the rest of his body, Peter’s hand moved to the back of his neck, fingers wrapping gently around to steady him.

“I didn’t know,” Neal finally whispered into Peter’s shoulder once the shivering stopped.

“Hmm? Didn’t know what?”

“That something like that would happen.” He pulled back far enough to look into Peter’s eyes. “I didn’t put myself in that position intentionally, you know.”

“I know you didn’t.” Peter’s earlier animosity had completely disappeared, replaced by something that looked an awful lot like admiration. “I was just…” _Scared._ He didn’t need to say it; Neal could see it in the creases in Peter’s forehead, in the thin line of his lips.

“Yeah.” He laid a hand on Peter’s chest. “Look, Peter, I’m sorry. I –”

“You shouldn’t be,” Peter interrupted. “What you did out there – that took a lot of guts.” He regarded Neal with a deep sincerity. “I’m proud of you, Neal. It scared the hell out of me, but it was probably one of the most courageous things I’ve ever seen anyone do.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against Neal’s.

Though Peter’s words overwhelmed Neal, they also gave him strength. He’d made it through the post-adrenaline crash by then, and it was finally starting to dawn on him that everything was going to be okay. Bernheisel and Randazzo were in custody, Ruth hadn’t been hurt, and Peter was proud of him.

It hit him suddenly that this was a big part of what he’d missed during his time at Pierpoint – the intricacies of the investigation, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of the takedown, the knowledge that they’d taken dangerous criminals off the streets. He had a secure job and a nice salary, but there was no challenge, and he never really felt like he was doing something that would help others or make him a better person.

Just as Neal opened his mouth to reply, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Peter? You guys okay in there? Can I come in?”

Peter glanced at Neal, who nodded and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. They backed away from each other, but Peter stayed close, reaching for the first aid kit. “Yeah, Brian, come on in.”

Brian entered the room, carefully closing the door behind him, then turned and took in the two of them. He watched in silence as Peter squeezed the instant cold pack to activate it, then handed it to Neal, who rested the knuckles of his left hand in it. “You okay, Neal?” Brian nodded at the cold pack.

“Yeah,” Neal said, and this time his smile felt right. “A little banged up, but I’ll live. I just needed…” He trailed off and shrugged, and Brian gave him a relieved grin.

“Been there.” He shook his head and chuckled, then pointed a finger at Neal. “You. You, my friend, have got some great big shiny titanium ones. Now I know why you walk with that swagger.” He dropped his hand and his voice. “Seriously, that was damn impressive. I don’t think any of us would have chosen to put you in such a risky situation, but given the circumstances, I’m not sure how it could have possibly gone any better.”

“Thanks. I –”

“It could’ve gone better if we’d known Bernheisel was going to show up in the goddamn yard,” Peter said, his tone clipped. He put his hands on his hips and glared at the other agent. “We had at least half a dozen pairs of eyes on him at any given time and a solid plan in place, yet he was able to walk right up and take a hostage. How does that happen? Who dropped the fucking ball, Brian?”

“Hey, easy, Peter.” Brian held his hands out away from his sides. “I’ll admit, it turned into a pretty big clusterfuck, but thanks to Neal here, we were able to – ”

“Thanks to _Neal_? Oh, so let me get this straight. We’ve got multiple teams of highly-trained FBI agents here and surrounding both farms, and we had to be rescued from our own incompetence by a _civilian_?” Peter turned away and ran a hand through his hair.

Neal reached for his lover and was startled to feel the other man’s body quaking under his chilled fingers. “Peter –”

“We didn’t know about the tunnel,” Brian interjected, his voice soft.

Peter turned and gaped at him. “What tunnel?”

“Exactly.” Brian glanced away, and Neal could see the sting of Peter’s earlier words reflected in the other agent’s posture. “There was an escape tunnel leading from one of Bernheisel’s barns into the woods.” He looked back up, his blue eyes fixing on Peter’s brown ones. “I’ve only had enough time to get the basics, but from what we’ve been able to piece together, Gus Randazzo drove down the road we use to access the back entrance and noticed the tire tracks at the gate. He called Bernheisel on a burner phone and told him something was going on, then pulled off and disappeared into the woods on Bernheisel’s property.

“Our agents intercepted Randazzo, and there was a brief shootout before he was taken into custody. While we were distracted with that, Bernheisel apparently went down into the tunnel, came out in the woods, and saw Ruth down at the far end of the garden. He was dressed like – like them, so in the confusion, we didn’t realize it was him until he grabbed her. We thought he was still in the house.” His voice faded on the last word, and he gave Peter an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I was in charge, and I take full responsibility. You have to know that I never meant for Neal or Ruth – or anyone – to be put in a situation like that. And if you think I’m not hurting over the fact that one of our own was injured out there or that a hostage was involved, think again. But bottom line, this was a successful takedown. Unorthodox, yeah, but successful. Bernheisel’s in custody, Randazzo’s in custody, and who knows what kind of intel we’ll find by the time we finish searching that farm.”

Peter stared at Brian for a long minute, but the older agent stood his ground, looking decidedly composed as he waited for Peter to come around. Finally, Peter sighed and let his shoulders drop, shaking his head in resignation. Brian held out a hand, and Peter took it, letting his friend pull him into a brief but warm hug.

“Look, Peter,” Brian said, his voice soft. “I know you were scared. We all were, to a certain extent.” He gave Peter a smirk, a hint of cockiness around the edges. “But your boyfriend was a real badass out there. You should be damn proud of him.”

Peter blinked at the boyfriend reference, but he nodded and rested a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I am. It was…” He trailed off, and Neal could almost hear all of the ways the old Peter Burke – the one that wasn’t his lover – would have finished the sentence. _Reckless. Stupid. Crazy._ Peter gave him a look of unguarded fondness, and Neal’s breath caught in his chest. “It was pretty intense, and I’m still not sure exactly how Neal ended up in the middle of the action – not that I’m surprised. But it’s still a win.”

“It is,” Brian agreed with a matter-of-fact nod.

Finally seeming to let his guard down, Peter leaned into Neal, then cocked his head at Brian. “The agent who was shot – Dennis, right? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, Denny Van Scyoc from our SWAT team in Philly. He was hit in the left bicep, but he’ll be fine. They’ll be releasing him from the hospital later today. After he was shot, he still managed to return fire. Hit Gus Randazzo in the leg and took him into custody. Denny’s a beast.”

“And Ruth?” Neal asked. He balanced the cold pack on the back of his left hand and slipped his right arm around Peter’s waist, suddenly needing the contact and not caring whether or not it looked unprofessional. 

“She’s okay, considering.” Brian’s expression turned sympathetic. “I saw her for a few minutes right before I came here. She’s down the hall in the girls’ bedroom with Levi and Jonas. She’d like to see you when you’re up to it. They all would.”

Neal nodded. “Can I, um…” He turned to look at Peter, who smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “I need a few more minutes.”

“Sure, of course.” Brian jammed his hands into his pockets. “Look, Neal, what you did out there today? Now I get it.” When Neal gave him a puzzled look, Brian glanced at Peter before continuing. “When I first heard about the deal you had with Peter, years ago, I didn’t get what he saw in you. I knew you helped his closure rate, but I couldn’t understand why he’d risk his career so many times. But working with you this week, seeing everything you put into this, and then today – god, today.” He offered his hand to Neal. “I hope we get to work together again sometime.”

Neal shook Brian’s hand and gave him a genuine smile, managing to keep the surprise from registering on his face. “I hope so, too.”

“Good deal. Okay, I’ll see you guys in a bit.” After giving Peter a wink and a thump on the shoulder, Brian left them alone again.

“Hey.” Peter turned and took Neal’s face in his hands. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just need this. You.” He put the cold pack aside and rested his hands on Peter’s waist.

“You’ve got me.” Peter’s lips brushed over his forehead. “Always.” He leaned in and kissed Neal, and it was sweet and reassuring and perfect. It was exactly what Neal needed. Peter’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, and Neal gave himself over to the kiss and to the warmth of Peter’s body against his.

It was Peter who ended the kiss, placing quick pecks at the corners of Neal’s mouth. They held each other then, and Neal rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. A shiver ran through Neal’s body, one last delayed reaction.

“Shh,” Peter whispered, running a hand up and down his back. “It’s okay, everyone’s okay.”

“I know.” Neal sighed and closed his eyes.

They stayed that way for a few more minutes, embracing, breathing. When Neal finally pulled away, he felt restored, more like his usual self.

“You ready to go see Ruth?”

“Yeah, I think I am.” He grinned, reaching out to give Peter’s hands a quick squeeze. This seemed to satisfy Peter, who gathered his things in one arm and dropped the other hand to the small of Neal’s back before leading him from the room.

\-------------

**** Epilogue ****

\-------------

“This bed is way too comfortable.” Peter stretched and let out a contented sigh that almost turned into a yawn. “I may have to move in with you.”

Neal chuckled and let his fingertips wander down Peter’s body before toying with the sweat-damp curls above his spent cock. “I figured someone your size would need room to spread out.”

“Hmm.” Peter thought about the statement for a moment, his mind still pleasantly foggy from the alcohol and the evening’s other activities, before leaning back to get a better look at Neal’s face. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you bought this bed…with _me_ in mind?”

Neal gave him a mischievous grin, then tugged lightly at the hair between his fingers. “You know you have a few gray hairs down here?”

“I do,” Peter said with a smirk. “You put them there. And you’re redirecting.”

“I didn’t buy it with you in mind.” He leaned in and nipped at Peter’s jaw. “I bought it with _us_ in mind.” He flattened his palm above Peter’s groin and slid it slowly over his abs and up to his chest. “And I know we’ve given up on taking things slowly, but moving in? You’re explaining that one to Elizabeth.”

Peter chuckled and pulled Neal in for a peck on the lips. “Yeah, not happening.” He wrapped his arms around Neal and nuzzled his neck. “I’m glad you talked with her when we got back, though. Must have gone well – I mean, I’m here…”

“It went very well. She wants to get involved eventually, I think. Or she might just want to watch. I don’t know if she’s even sure yet.”

“We’ll figure that out with El when she’s ready,” Peter said, letting his head drop back to the pillow. “For now, we can just enjoy working up to whatever the future holds.”

“I like the sound of that.” Neal pushed himself up to kiss Peter, and when the older man’s lips parted, Neal licked into his mouth with a soft moan. Even after breaking off the kiss, he sucked on Peter’s lower lip. “Mmm. You taste really good. Like...sex and tequila.”

“So do you.” Peter tried not to blush. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Neal grinned, equal parts pride and affection. “Was it worth the wait?”

“God, yes.” Peter winked and slid his hand down to rest on Neal’s abs. “And I’m _really_ glad it was you and not Brian.”

Neal’s grin got impossibly wider, and he gave a self-satisfied nod before pushing himself to sit up. “So am I.” He leaned over the side of the bed to grab their underwear from the floor, and Peter couldn’t help reaching out to let his fingers drift over the younger man’s ass. Now that he had access to it – and the rest of Neal’s body – just about any time he wanted, he couldn’t seem to get enough. “Hey,” Neal said as he rolled back over, dropping Peter’s boxers onto the bed between them. “You willing to follow that up?”

“Yeah, that’s not happening either – yet.” Peter nodded down at himself. “Give me some time.” He sat up and slipped into his underwear, watching appreciatively as Neal did the same beside him. It was still a little bewildering to him, being in Neal’s bed, knowing Neal wanted him there. Knowing Neal _wanted_ him, period.

Not surprisingly, Neal seemed to read him like a book. “Peter, don’t overthink it,” he said softly. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. Just let it happen and enjoy it.”

“I know, I know.” Peter shook his head and sighed. “And I am enjoying it, or wasn’t I clear about that earlier?”

“Mmm, no, you were very clear.” He moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing Peter, and his expression sobered just a bit. “Not to change the subject, but I talked to Sandy Pierpoint today.”

Peter put a pillow behind his back and leaned against the headboard. “I thought you might have. You’ve been in a good mood, so I assumed it went well and that you’d tell me about it eventually.”

“It did.” Neal took one of Peter’s hands in his own and scratched lightly at his palm. “He said it was a conversation he’d been expecting anyway.” Peter raised his eyebrows, and Neal nodded. “He knew I wouldn’t be able to handle a desk job for very long, and he could tell I was getting kind of antsy. When I jumped at the chance to go with you to Philadelphia, he…just knew.”

“So did he agree with your plan?”

“Absolutely. He’ll keep me on as an independent security consultant, and he’s letting me stay here – with the discount intact. So, you know, you can spend as much time in this bed as you want.” 

“I like the sound of that.” Peter smiled, but he tried not to let himself get too distracted by the idea. There was still a question that hadn’t yet been answered, though he wasn’t sure he even wanted to go there. He was desperate to know if Neal was considering returning to the FBI, but the last thing he wanted was for Neal to think he was being pushed in that direction or rushed into making a decision. “So…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Neal said, arching an eyebrow at him. “And I haven’t decided for sure yet. I have some time to think about it. I might take a few classes and do some authenticating. Coming back and working for you as an analyst is very tempting, though.”

Peter’s smile morphed into a relieved grin. “Well, you know how I feel about that. I can honestly say that I’d like to have you back, even if it’s only part-time.” He grew quiet for a moment, his fingers wrapping around Neal’s and stilling them. A deep pang of sentimentality struck him, hard and sudden. “It’s been two-and-a-half years,” he rasped around the lump forming in his throat, “and there are still times when I look down at your old desk and expect to see you sitting there.” He slipped from the bed and paced over to the window in the alcove. 

“Peter. Hey.” Neal walked up to stand beside him, and Peter felt warm fingers threading between his once again. 

“I’m okay,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I just…I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to talk you into coming back or rushing you into a decision, but after the past week, it’s really hitting me how much I’ve missed working with you. And that brings up all sorts of thoughts and feelings – you know, things I don’t like to deal with.” He managed to huff out a laugh, and he could feel Neal’s relief as the younger man leaned into his side.

“Should I tell you to cowboy up?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” They fell into a brief silence, simply holding hands and gazing out at the city below them.

“If it helps, the trip reminded me of how much I missed it, too.” Neal turned to face him. “If I come back, though, I do have one condition.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Indoor plumbing.” Neal kissed Peter on the tip of his nose, then smirked at him. “If we go on a stakeout or set up operations somewhere, I’m not going anywhere that doesn’t have indoor plumbing.”

“Oh, that’s a given. I’ll even put it in writing if that’s what it takes.” Peter chuckled, and Neal’s eyes lingered on his smile for a moment before he turned away to look out the window.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this view,” he said, his voice soft and tinged with wonder.

Peter wrapped his arms around Neal from behind, pulling him close, loving the way their bodies seemed to fit together so perfectly. He leaned his chin on the younger man’s shoulder and took in the view with him.

“It is beautiful. At least as nice as the last one. You’ve always had a thing for places with a view.”

“Hmm. Yeah.” Neal didn’t say what they were both thinking. After spending years in prison, having a place with an amazing view – of _freedom_ – meant more than he’d probably ever be able to put into words.

“Do you ever miss breakfast on the terrace?”

“I still surprise June by stopping in some mornings. She loves that, especially with Moz in Detroit.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Peter gave him a gentle kiss on the shoulder. “He should be back soon, shouldn’t he?”

Neal nodded. “I talked to him last night, and he said he’ll be back the week after next. Mr. Jeffries is getting around pretty well now, and I think Moz is anxious to get back.”

“So he’s really given up the life?”

Neal turned in Peter’s arms, a mellow grin on his face. “I don’t know if that’ll ever completely happen, but I think he’s pretty close. Spending so much time with Theo made him see things a little differently – well, maybe a lot differently.” He cocked his head, giving Peter a curious look. “Did you know he actually gets mail at June’s place now? No name, just initials that aren’t even his own, but I’ve seen the address labels, and I know June doesn’t subscribe to _Skeptical Inquirer_.”

Peter just shook his head and grinned. He pulled Neal into a long kiss, soft and sweet, their tongues teasing each other with hints of contentment and Don Eduardo Silver. When they finally parted, it was only to ease into an embrace that was somehow both familiar and new. Peter marveled at the sensation of Neal’s warm body pressed against his own, something he once thought he might never get to experience. 

“So, this is it, huh?” he murmured.

“Hmm?” 

“This is what it looks like when Neal Caffrey puts down roots.”

Neal took a deep breath and let it out in a blissful sigh, his arms wrapped around Peter’s back. “It is, yeah.” He turned his face to Peter’s neck, and when he spoke again, his voice was hushed and thick with the same emotions that made Peter’s heart beat faster. “There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than where I am right now.” _In New York. In your arms. In love with you._

Peter swallowed hard, gliding his fingers over Neal’s back, and only barely managed to whisper something he’d been wanting to say for a long time.

“Welcome home, Neal.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a timestamp for this fic: [Love Like Fire, the Taste of Skin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3200945)
> 
>  
> 
> Translations for the Deitsch phrases used in the fic:
> 
>  _Guder mariye. Wu iss Levi?_ \- Good morning. Where is Levi?  
>  _Welle fareb hot dei Aage?_ \- What color are your eyes?  
>  _Mei Aage sin bloh._ \- My eyes are blue.  
>  _Was gleichschst du? Gleichschst du Myusik heere?_ \- What do you like? Do you like to listen to music?  
>  _Ya, ich gleich Myusik, un Nei Yarrick Schteddel…un Wei. Ich gleich Wei arrig viel!_ \- Yes, I like music, and New York City...and wine. I like wine very much. (Give Neal a break, he's just learning! Heh.)  
>  _Guder Owed_ \- Good evening  
>  _Neal lernt gern neue Sprachen._ (This sentence from Peter is "high German" or regular German, not Deitsch.) - Neal likes learning new languages. * Edited - thanks to sahiya for fixing my rusty German!  
>  _Du schwetzt Hochdeutsch! Arrig gut!_ \- You speak German! Very good! (The Amish use Deitsch and English in their daily life and German in church, so they know all three.)  
>  _Pennsilfaanisch Deitsch_ \- Pennsylvania German


End file.
